


Feels Good

by erobororo



Series: SYBARITIC [1]
Category: NieR: Automata (Video Game)
Genre: 9S POV, F/M, I bumped the rating up to Explicit because the later chapters are very uhhhhhhh porny, M/M, No Spoilers, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, horny bots what can i say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2018-12-26 19:10:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12065235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erobororo/pseuds/erobororo
Summary: “Humans did a lot of unnecessary things. What better way to understand them than by trying it out for ourselves?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This all started because of 9S' “bath” dialogue...lol.  
> No spoilers, but it helps to have played the game. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Music would make this more bearable,” he sighs. Pod 153 says nothing.

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Desolate buildings line the area in crumbled masses, caving into the overgrown nature of a forgotten city. Elaborate structures melt into the sides of grassy hills and sediment, forming a seamless line from synthetic to biotic. The city, once separated from the earth around it, is now overtaken by the surrounding thrum of nature to become one. Vegetation and woodlands, however unvaried in their inhabitants, easily tower over the remains of human life to form a new world.

In the thousands of years since humanity fled from the extraterrestrial invaders and their machine army, Earth and all its creatures continued on without a care. Flora and fauna rebuild their homes while humanity’s android soldiers and the aliens’ machine abominations fight. With no passing nights and no end in sight, either side does what it can to get the upper hand, though the androids are surely one step closer. At times it makes holding onto hope somewhat difficult, and on a another level, it also makes passing the time difficult, especially when there isn’t anything interesting to do. But androids try regardless, because they have a human’s touch, after all. Machines wouldn’t know a thing about that.

On this particular day, as with most days lately, there are no advancements on the front lines, only slow, strategic countermeasures. Drones of resource shipments make their way to the moon and back, while fleets of various android units touch down for reconnaissance. Everything is still, cautionary, with hardly a sound from living organisms despite the overarching threat of war.

No matter the obstacle, all units work tirelessly to inspect clusters of machine lifeforms contaminating the city.

“ _'Morning, listeners! It’s time to kick off another installment of Listener Letters with your favorite radio idol, DJ 24D!_ ”

Well, almost all of them.

“Ugh,” the android groans at the radio transmission before him, “please no.”

With a flick of his wrist, he shoos away the crackle of static emitting his transparent monitor, gesturing his finger to open a separate channel.

“ _...42S, your favorite YoRHa Squadron idol from North 12C Defense HQ. I’m here with the latest hot scoops from the front line, so let’s get out there and do our best, alright? Gooo team!_ ”

His fingers twitch in preparation of flipping to another channel until the familiar upbeat jingle of the DJ’s theme transitions into the next program.

From a command perspective, there's no purpose for him to take part in such activities as a YoRHa model number 9 type S, aptly abbreviated to “9S” or “Nines” depending on who he’s talking to. His duties involve data mining and, as the “S” designation implies, scanning Earth for various information that will aid in the android-machine proxy war. Engaging in simple pleasantries and exhibiting emotions are strictly forbidden on the job as they pose risks to peak performance. Command calls the issue a matter of distraction, but he prefers the word “multitasking.”

From a 9S perspective, things always tend to be a little different.

Why take issue with executing three miscellaneous tasks alongside two mission-based tasks when they _all_ benefit him? In this manner, they also benefit the war effort. It's simply a win-win situation. He isn’t failing his objectives; he isn’t putting himself in danger; he isn’t even disobeying his core programming. As far as he’s concerned, he performs above standards set for his model. So, naturally, this causes a conflict of interest in his logic board each time he’s reprimanded. But line of command dictates order, after all, and he isn’t defective enough to argue with models higher up on the android ladder.

As an unprioritized model within the grander scale of Project YoRHA, of the resistance against machines for the glory of mankind, he has no real privilege to be reclining on a tangle of tree branches in the thick of the woods listening to music while his pod aids him in collecting data.

And yet.

“ _We have some cool stuff coming up this hour, especially for those of you hard at work—and let’s face it, who isn’t working their circuits off? Be sure to stay tuned in so you don’t miss a beat!”_

He increases the volume on his transmission and leans back anyway.

It’s a simple action necessitated by neither operators nor commanders; a guiding principle to base extraneous mission activities on that neither harms nor hinders the user; a harvesting of information for personal gain under a single pretense: because it “feels good.”

After a particular run-in with a disturbing pair of machines and their crude display of human behavior, it’s all 9S can think about. Their exclamations of pleasure were mere imitation of course, but androids are more complex than machines, more in tune with the humans who created them, so the concept should be easy to understand.

In theory.

Breaking the phrase apart in a technical sense renders it very simple: initiating a positive chain reaction of impulses passing through diffused neurotransmitters leads to beneficial results. However, anything beyond this literal definition may be something out of reach. Or at least pointless, as his colleagues are quick to put it. Often.

Then there’s the possibility that it really isn’t that profound at all.

“Say, Pod, what information do you have on ‘feeling good’?” 9S prods in the middle of a downtempo rhythm.

Pod 153, 9S’ floating powerhouse of a tactical support unit, whirs beside him and extends its antenna to reveal a small speaker.

“Searching data banks. Running closest match for 'feeling good.'"

"Oh?" 9S sits up in his makeshift recliner of tree branches. "You really found something."

"'Hedonism,' noun: an Old World school of thought and philosophy which argued in favor of happiness and pleasure as being the highest intrinsic good."

"A school dedicated to pleasure?" he asks—to himself, mostly.

"Continued: hedonism is related to 'epicureanism,' which focused on mental pleasure, and freedom from mental pain and fear of death and the gods."

"Fear of the gods? But didn't humans worship gods?"

"Affirmative. However, in many cultures, fearing a deity was seen as a positive, rather than negative, aspect of one’s religious loyalty."

9S places his fingers beneath his chin. "What does this have to do with 'feeling good'?"

"Would 9S like a repeated explanation of the defined term?"

"No, that’s alright." He returns to the curve of his makeshift recliner, arms behind his head for support. "Still, it sounds like people were living by this idea. Pursuing it, even. Is that how it was?”

“In accordance with my database, your assessment is correct.”

“Huh.”

9S leans further back against the cedar, paying no mind to the unappealing texture as he mulls over Pod 153’s dialogue.

It’s not that he’s engrossed in the complex peculiarities of humanity, but rather, he’s drawn to information no matter the subject. When something is presented to him, whether it be a new enemy or budding thought, he seeks to fill in the blanks as much as he cares to know. To his advantage, auxiliary pods contain almost all known recorded information of Earth and the Old World, so he doesn’t need to venture too far to answer a concrete question. Because he’s wired differently, capable of more than the pods, his memory banks cannot save as much data on any and every subject, so he has to pick and choose how much information to retain once certain curiosities plague him. Perhaps it’s a byproduct of his model’s programming. Both a strength and a hardware limitation.

Until now, concepts like pleasure or feeling good coexisted with an ulterior motive. Music is listened to because it accelerates data mining; side activities are carried out to maintain the flow of productivity; even the seemingly useless internal data processing known to humans as “daydreaming” is performed as an alternative method for preventing automatic suspension. Each action not necessitated by higher ups still supports the larger war effort. But humans were seeking these concepts for selfish gain. Feeling good just to feel good. Why? What could it possibly be like to do such a thing?

Could a non-human█—

██Could _he_ …?

“Incoming transmission from bunker,” Pod 153 sputters with a static visual of attempted connection to an operator.

“Ah!” 9S jumps to his feet and brushes off his coat, thankful for the wide system of branches beneath him. “That time again? Alright. Pause current programs and put me through, Pod.”

“Affirmative.”

The operator’s visage quickly flickers into view, expression unreadable for more than the fact that her mouth is concealed by cloth.

“21O to 9S,” she addresses him with an elegantly professional yet intimidatingly stern voice.

“I read you, Operator-san.”

“We have not received a status update from you for quite some time. The Commander understands this is new territory for you and has decided to be lax on your silence, but as your immediate supervisor I am not so understanding. Please promptly forward your data.”

He isn’t given a chance to speak, and not even her beauty can deter the sudden, glitchy hiccup in his fear receptors. 21O may not be one to express a wide range of emotions, or _any_ emotions, but despite the low resolution of his pod’s display, her eyes alone speak of her unwinding wrath. Though dull in color, they pierce through him with an intensity of the most vibrant light, like she’s somehow hacking into him via camera. He stands by his affirmation of committing no wrongdoing, but she always manages to make that hiccup as well.

And as a model used to explaining data, he’s also used to explaining himself.

“Sorry, got caught up in my work. I think my internal clock is receiving some interference from the area. Man, I can see why humans used to depend on shifts in the sun’s rays in order to tell time. This perpetual daylight is a pain.”

He holds his breath. It isn’t technically a lie when the other half of the truth is left out.

“An explanation was not requested.”

He deflates, and without another word moves on to configure his data for upload. Through sheer memoization alone, 9S’ initiates the process for Pod 153 with a simple hand gesture, expanding a secondary window and issuing non-verbal commands until the bulk of information is compressed for the bunker to receive.

“Furthermore, 9S.”

21O’s voice cuts through the momentary silence, forcing him to pause and turn back to his pod’s video feed.

“Yes?”

“Do you need reminding that interception of radio signals for music and other such entertainment is prohibited during missions?”

His defense mechanisms kick in, causing him to fidget and carry out meaningless hand motions learned from the Old World.

“Ah, well, the thing is, the coordinates from certain frequencies and the strengths of various wavelengths sync with my calibrations which enables better—”

“Again, an explanation was not requested.”

At least he can rely on her predictability, though he’d like less cruelty once in a while.

“Okay, okay.”

“One affirmation is sufficient."

“...Yes.”

“This may be your first reconnaissance for some time without 2B, but you are still expected to continue your mission as assigned. I want a status update in two hours. 21O out.”

Before he can reaffirm the order, she disappears from the red-blue-green of the pod’s channels as quickly as she appeared.

“Of all the operators to assign to me, they sure picked the coldest one,” he sighs, lightly kicking at a leaf. “I guess they don’t base it on compatibility algorithms.”

“Affirmative,” Pod 153 starts, “such algorithms are not required for YoRHa members to perform duties.”

“It was just a joke.”

“This unit is not programmed to compute jokes.”

“Clearly.”

“Proposal: proceed without 21O's aforementioned issues by terminating audio pollution. Said unit functions can be accessed by way of—”

“You really don’t need to tell me how to turn off music.”

“Affirmative. Disabling access to manual entries until return to bunker.”

“Sometimes I really wonder if you operate simply to spite me.”

“Negative. ‘Spite’ is not a written function of this unit’s programming.”

9S presses his palm to his forehead, noting the uptick in his pulse but ignoring it to return to his responsibilities. “Run a two-hour timer in the background while I observe the area.”

“Syncing clock with thirty-minute interval alarms until 1548 BT.”

A single screen appears in front of 9S with a 360-degree visual of the machine cluster below. Dissatisfied by the view’s low readings, he walks to a clearer angle in the canopy.

“Alert: natural structure not optimal for scanning. Falling from current elevation levels likely to cause severe damage.”

He sits once his screen lights up with a clearer visual. “Center your gravity closer to me, then. Won’t fall if you catch me.”

He smirks at the whirring piece of equipment, forgetting that it can’t reciprocate the gesture. It silently confirms the order and hovers near his head, running two extra screens with diagnostics on the enemy.

Various strings of code and technical readings run through the screens’ graphics, but nothing of interest stands out. The machines exhibit no unpredictable behavior and no actions unique from his outing yesterday. They simply hop along aimlessly, showing no aggression to nearby life forms nor to each other. He determines this as normal as they’re only programmed to attack the “enemy,” defined as “android” since humans are nowhere to be found on Earth, of course. With no real threat or promising new data, he lets the audiovisual applications do their work while his eyes wander to observe the environment.

A flock of black birds cut across the pale sky, disappearing behind thick foliage in the distance. Beneath their hiding, a solitary boar rests in the shade of shallow brush. Adjacent, an albino moose shares a meal with others of its kind.

It’s remarkably ordinary.

“Music would make this more bearable,” he sighs. Pod 153 says nothing.

In lieu of radio transmissions, he attempts to hum the tune of his last playlist to simulate the effects on his processors, but after several minutes he comes up with no results. Neither music simulation nor the ever-changing expanse of nature can prove itself useful to 9S today. It’s all so predictable and unstimulating, and that won’t do anyone any good. So, like his line of sight, he allows his processors to roam freely.

It’s been a week since 2B underwent extensive maintenance and he was commanded to Earth alone, and while he’s no stranger to solo missions, he can’t help but question the decision. He could be assigned to plenty of other units, combat or otherwise, so why choose these past few days to return to his method of scanning pre-2B? While he isn’t the only scanner on Earth duty today, he’s been advised not to contact them for anything other than emergencies, and boredom certainly doesn’t count as an emergency. He posits 11S and his squad are faring better, no doubt engaging in more eventful happenings wherever they set up camp. They could probably use a newer scanner such as himself. Plus, it would benefit him to be with another teammate for the rest of the reconnaissance.

It would...be nice.

 

To be with someone right now.

 

But, he’s already capable enough on his own. In this moment, having a companion other than Pod 153 in his party would earn headquarters no gains. He can do it alone. No companion, no music. It’s fine.

  
  
  
  
  
  
█  
  
  
  


Just.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It would be nice.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
██  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


A blip appears on his screen to remind him of the passing time, yanking him from his daydream.

“This area has some serious interference,” he says shaking his head. “Okay, focus, focus.”

Leaning forward, he lands his attention and tools a few meters away to a lone machine wobbling along a nearby shoal.

“Veering off the path, are you?” he muses. “Maybe you’ll do something interesting.”

As it nears the water, it catches its rear limbs on a rock, failing to perform a jump and instead crashing into the small stream.

9S chuckles softly to himself. “Well, that wasn’t very useful, but it was definitely interesting.”

As he turns away to search elsewhere for information, assuming the machine will simply get itself up and return to its cluster, something from the corner of his eye triggers his hyperfocus back to the scene. A nearby machine hops over to its fallen clone, buzzing and gesturing about erratically. The pair’s eyes blink various hues of green, but he doesn’t quite catch the code.

“Pod,” he barks, standing and almost bumping heads with Pod 153.

Without further explanation, he grabs onto the unit’s appendages and jumps down to a closer spot atop a crooked building. From this distance, the pair of machines comes into full view, one helping the other into an upright position from the ground. 9S creeps to the tip of the roof’s edge, capturing a fragment of their language with his tools, though it still needs to be deciphered by the operators.

“I hope the operators can...huh?”

The machines turn, attention caught by a fish behind them. It violently flops to and fro, no doubt suffering in the open oxygen. After nearly a minute of deliberating, one of the machines cups the fish and returns it to the water before waddling back to its group in unison with the other machine.

9S is consumed with a fraught silence, nowhere to go but his frantic thoughts. A machine has no business with surrounding wildlife. What does it matter if a fish dies from hypoxia or not? It has no outcome on the machines’ side of war. It won’t get them any closer to understanding androids or humans or anything. It must be faulty programming due to years-worth of attempts to evolve based on the environment, said environment just happens to be the nearby by aquatic life.

██

Of course, that’s it.

Nothing the machines do has any real meaning.

“The operators will have a field day with this,” 9S mutters to his shoulder, falling into a silence again. Desperately rejecting any prodding questions about the scene.

“Alert: thirty minutes remain.”

He hums in recognition of his pod’s reminder and brings all screens forward.

“I guess I should compile this data for the bunker,” he draws out, long and slow, nearly finished with encryption by the time he rolls out his last syllable. “That should do it. Pod, contact the bunker.”

“Affirmative.”

21O appears in front of him again, seemingly less perturbed than before.

“9S reporting.”

“21O here. I’m assuming you have everything ready?”

“Yes. I’ve recorded something about the machines’ behavior that I think you’ll find interesting.” He forwards the encrypted files with pride.

“Interesting is not really the goal here.”

“Interesting _and useful_.”

“Good, then. I’ll get back to you once I’ve looked over all this, but...I do like what I see so far. Maybe I’ll give you a reward later.”

“Eh? A reward?”

“21O out.”

9S exhales with a stretch, pausing to give the retiring machines a once-over before dashing to his flight unit housed in a larger building. He takes off within seconds of adjusting to its mechanisms, entering Earth’s thermosphere before he can even register it.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't complain. Aren't 9S models supposed to be thorough?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ some 2B9S :) ]

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

The view is as enjoyable as the ascent will let it be. Prismic belts of starstuff and broken rock can only captivate 9S for so long when the shifts in atmospheric pressure weigh on his unit and force it to utilize maximum output, lending to a particularly erratic flight pattern. There’s always a chance something could go wrong here, but he’s done it so many times that the statistics no longer faze him. Until the transporters get back up and running, this is how it has to be. He doesn’t dwell on it.

At the very least, he has a bath to look forward to when he settles in, which won’t take too long as the large circular bunker comes quickly into view. With slight struggle against the atmosphere’s pressure, he activates his landing gear and not-so-gracefully shoots his flight unit into the west wing’s chamber. Automated systems lock his unit into place long enough for him to adjust to the bunker’s environment and eject himself. He inspects the chromatic black from all angles and contentedly hums to himself as mechanical arms load it into its proper storage compartment.

“No spacedust marks this time. Now, a bath…”

He leaves the storage cell, Pod 153 by his side, and arrives to his room within minutes. Upon entry he makes haste to collect the bare essentials for his bath into a small metallic bin: a washcloth pieced together from various fibers in the bunker, a bottle of essential oils found in the desert and repurposed for android use, a towel courtesy of Resistance members, and a spare set of attire.

For YoRHa-grade androids, advanced maintenance replaces bathing rituals as any dirt, grime, or other cosmetic issues can be fixed with a simple data transfer into a new body. But for 9S, the act is less about nullified physical benefits and more about informational benefits. He finds it easier to organize internal storage and strategize while taking a bath. If their creators found a reason to engage in the ritual since the dawn of time, there must be multiple, sensical advantages to it. Besides, he can’t be faulted for trying when he was built for such curiosity.

Still, regardless if YoRHa experience no adverse effects when submerged in the liquid, most of his teammates regard the act of bathing as unnecessary. Strange, even. The Commander only granted his request for a bathing station under the condition that he install the single module himself and place it in the secluded scanner wing of the bunker. But it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done and he wastes no time shuffling out of his room to board the elevator down.

That is, until the Commander herself rounds the corner to stop him.

“Ah, 9S, I see you’ve returned from your sortie,” she comments, words as tall as her stature. “I have to admit I was a bit worried there.”

He swallows. “Commander?”

“For your sake. I had hoped we since moved on from your reprimanding days.”

“M-my apologies.”

“Well, no need for that today. The intel you provided is making quite the rounds with the operators. With all of us, in fact. It’s not every day we collect data such as that.”

“Ah, is that so?”█ A flutter in his pulse compels him to smile, but he bites it down.

She nods. “Indeed. I’ll make sure to compensate you accordingly.”

He clutches the bin of materials to his abdomen and bows his head. “Thank you very much.”

“But aside from that,” she continues as he lifts his head, “there’s one more job for you today.”

“Yes?”

“As you know, 2B has been recuperating since last week’s mishap. She’s due to exit rest mode within the hour.”

9S stares ahead with an expectant yet quizzical look.

“That means she’ll need a final maintenance check.”

“Oh, of course! Leave it to me.”

The Commander smiles knowingly and saunters past him, heels clacking softer and softer as the distance between the two widens.

9S arrives at 2B’s door with his wash bin tucked neatly behind him, resolute to provide further support yet eager to enter the bath afterwards.

“‘Scuse my entry,” he calls out as the door slides open, knowing very well her cochlear receptors are offline. Sure enough, there she is on the bed, clothed in all but her visor as if ready to attack.

It’s routine, entering her room like this and setting his things down for maintenance. As a scanner type he’s made for it, and as her assigned support he’s obligated. But he can’t conflate his requests on Earth with 2B’s maintenance even though they both fall under work duties. One is a job required by command in order to fulfill his role in the war, while the other is a service he’d ardently execute regardless of command or war. Even in a peaceful future without machines, he would carry out 2B’s maintenance. Even if they were human, he would find some way to offer the gesture. The “why”s are less important than the “how”s.

Finding a reason other than “because it’s 2B” never seems to matter.

As he nears her bed, placing his things on the table beside it, he notices her sleeping position is much less stiff than previous maintenance sessions. Rather than her usual supine position, she lies laterally facing the wall, leaving plenty of unused space next to her. He takes it upon himself to sit there with as much of his body hanging off of the bed’s edge as possible, and despite this opportunity never having been presented to him before, it doesn’t exactly feel out of place. It certainly beats standing, and how else will he flip her over for maintenance?

“That’s no good, 2B-san,” he says to the air again, taking curious note of her parted lips and rhythmic breathing.

He looks over her form for any abnormalities before determining it safe to proceed. 2B may be a 148kg combat android, but he’s trained enough, and upgraded his chips enough, that he can all but carry her across the desert if the need arises.

Once she’s in proper positioning for maintenance, he briefly scans her body again to discern the level of service necessary, paying heed to the various inputs of data on his screen.

“Black box temperature normal. Heart rate normal. All vitals pretty much normal. There’s not much left to do here. Looks like your nap might be cut short.” He turns to her and smiles. She, of course, doesn't react.

Android rest shares linguistics with human rest, but the similarities are only top layer deep. Their systems temporarily power down to ensure extended life of the model, but unlike humans they can go for much longer without it, and are much less vulnerable while paused. In 2B’s case, her current status is most akin to a human coma, without the risk of expiration or losing the unit’s data. 9S wonders if memory data is available while suspended for that long. Would they playback like recorded files, or would they shift between nodes to make room for extra storage? Not quite like dreams only the humans were capable of but, well, the idea isn’t so undesirable.

“Alright, time to wrap this up,” he slurs while stretching. “Initiating audiovisual systems check.”

9S’ screen goes to work booting up the proper applications for 2B’s recovery, bringing up an overview of her body in categorized sections. A silhouette of her head lights up, zooming in on the detailed workings of her ears.

“I’m going to start speaking. Reply when you can hear me.”

He’s thankful for automatic voice-to-code ability during maintenance, otherwise he’d have to manually send over the binary to convey his command until her cochlear receptors start up.

“Hello in there, can you hear me? It’s 9S as usual. Whenever you can hear me just say the word. Hey heeey...”

He cycles through phrases for a full minute to no reaction until, on the fifth iteration of her name, he observes a subtle twitch at the corner of her mouth.

“2B-san.”

Another twitch.

“You can hear me, can’t you?”

It wouldn’t be the first time someone has tried to prank him. For what purpose, he has no idea.

“I’m trying to do my job. If you don’t respond I have to look into it as a hardware issue.”

“Sorry. I’m fine,” she finally admits. “Your voice is somehow calming.”

9S flinches. Does 2B usually have such a lilt in her voice? The week-long recovery must have taken a toll on her vocal systems. She’s probably just not used to it yet. Right.

That doesn’t explain the uptick in his heart rate, though.

“Thank you,” he rushes to regain composure. “Anyway, let’s move on to your ocular systems so we can finish.”

“I need diagnostics run on something else first,” she states, face determined despite her closed eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Tactile sensors.”

He tilts his head. “Has your maintenance ever required that?”

“I’ve been suspended for several days. I need my stimulus modalities checked for touch and perception. I can already confirm a lack of sensations in several areas.” She weakly turns her head in his direction. “For example, I should be able to clearly feel the sinking weight of your body on my bed, but I do not.”

 _I guess you’re right,_ is what 9S wants to say, but all that comes out of his mouth is a jumbled “sorry.”

“It’s fine, the test shouldn’t be difficult despite it being your first time,” she assures him.

9S hums, slowly running the binary for tactile sensory tests and placing her arm in his hands. This, like his earlier mission, is new territory.

“Okay, your body’s been mapped. What area would you like to prioritize?”

“Pressure modalities. Anywhere.”

“Got it...I think,” he whispers.

He flicks his screen to the side as he moves closer on the bed and delicately brushes away the fibrous cuff of her dress sleeve.

“I’m going to apply slight pressure to your arm. Tell me when you can feel it.” She doesn’t respond, but by now 9S has gotten used to silence as a form of confirmation.

He brings all his fingers together and pushes into the soft of her forearm anterior to her elbow, minding his screen for any new readings.

“Did you feel that?”

“Not sure.”

The collected data correlates, so at least he knows she isn’t teasing him this time.

“Okay, I’ll apply more pressure.”

He digs his fingers in and rotates around the malleable space there, tapping three times after each rotation.

“How’s that?”

“Not quite. Every other tap is faint. But I do sense the effect of your weight underneath my back.”

Something pops up on the monitor, but the graphing is too minute to be conclusive.

“Okay, well, that’s at least something.”

“9S, please try another area.”

“Eh? I mean, sure, but…”

“Anywhere is fine.”█

There it is again, the hiccup in his pulse.

“Understood.”

With both hands gently on her closest shoulder, and with enough distance so as to not encroach on her personal space, he pushes her forward and down into the mattress.

“That?”

She attempts to shake her head, seemingly forgetting her strength is still powered down. “I felt the motion, but not the sensation.”

9S sighs. “At least most of it is functioning. It’s probably experiencing a slow start. We’ll just give it time.”

“Perhaps.”

“I’ll try somewhere else.”

Anxious over her unimpressed tone, he continues, scanning her body again with the program. He lands on her face as it’s exposed and likely more receptive to the sensations. But how to test it without upsetting her?

Well, he could try  _that_ , but, would it be right?

“Here goes nothing.”

It’s easier to apologize than it is to get permission, he’s learned.

“9S?”

He silently pokes her cheek, right on her mole. 2B offers no followup.

Without a concrete strategy to move forward, he desperately scrambles for a backup plan by pinching the polymer collagen pads of her face, but she still has yet to respond to the action. Having nowhere to go but forward, he kneads the synthetic fibers of her cheeks between his fingers and tugs just once before frantically retreating to find, to his surprise, a screen lit up with positive data.

“So?” he squeaks. The room is much too warm right now. “How about that time?”

The three-and-a-half seconds between his inquiry and her reply are much too long.

“Sufficient, if a little bit strange.”

“Strange?”

“Let’s continue.”

For once, he’s fine with his question going unanswered.

“What do you need?” 9S manages after steadying his breathing.

“Temperature modalities. Heat should be enough.”

“Alright, 2B-san. I have an idea on how to test that, at least.”

“9S.”

“Yes?”

“Formalities aren’t necessary.”

“Aah, right, sorry. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Her facial expression twists, but it’s difficult to read.

He moves on to bring up a second monitor, fiddling with various applications and settings while holding a single hand above 2B as he works. Upon increasing a certain digital bar, his glove illuminates a faint orange and yellow. A shrill frequency pierces his ears for a second before being washed out by noise inhibitors.

“What’s that?” 2B asks, brows furrowed. She’s still unable to open her eyes at this point in her test.

“I’m running an electric current of about fifty volts. The heat generated throughout my hand should be enough for you to feel from a short distance.”

“Oh? And that does no damage to your body?”

“As long as I don’t keep it running for hours and hours. Our models come with increased resistance to counter any potential problems during hacking. Jeez, they really don’t tell you anything about us?”

“Only what’s important.”

“This _is_ impor—never mind. I’m going to place my hand above your face now. That way, we can knock out multiple sensory modalities at once. Plus, the distance and barrier from my glove should make it so you don’t feel any shock, just heat.”

He plays with the new monitor once more before extending his other arm and hovering it over 2B’s face. The soft glow resonates off the subtle curves of her eyelids, barely touching upon the apexes of her nose and cheeks. His eyes linger.

“Feel anything?”

“Yes. It’s quite warm.”

“Great! Then that should just about do it for today.”

He hurriedly removes his arm from the bed, but 2B blindly taps his knee with unexpected strength.

“Not yet. There’s one more test I require.”

9S pauses his index finger on his screen, interrupting the shutdown of his maintenance programs. “That can’t be.”

“Don’t complain. Aren’t 9S models supposed to be thorough?”

“I guess they informed you on that one. Okay, so what is this final request?”

“Nocireceptors.”

“Eh? 2B, is that really necessary?”

“Bodily responses to damaging stimuli are essential for survival.”

“Sure, but, if you’re able to feel heat, you’re probably able to feel pain.”

“9S.”

“Don’t you think?”

“ _9S_ ,” she repeats with an assertion that leaves him no room for rebuttal.

Her austerity always gets the best of him.

“...Understood,” he replies meekly.

It still doesn’t change the beating in his chest cavity, though. He’ll have to get one of the other scanners to inspect him on that.

For now, he quickly brings up the same settings and bits of information during the first electrical test, this time removing his glove and exposing the current. The glow brightens through his top layer, optically transforming his hand into an intricate webbing of yellow lines.

“I’m going to lower it to nine volts,” he informs her, tinkering with several settings on his monitor before taking her forearm and placing the limb in his gloved hand.

“Do what you must, but don’t hold back for my sake.”

“This is a maintenance test, not a sparring match.”

“It’d be best without any obstructions,” she directs him, ignoring his comment. “Better results. Quicker, too.”

“If you say so.”

He steadies her arm in his lap and removes her glove with his own covered hand, one finger at a time. With her hand bare he can effectively distribute the appropriate shock, but his actions are halted by his eyes on her wrist. It’s incredibly lithe, like the rest of her. Like he could snap it in half. But he knows what she’s capable of, and while the impulse thoughts are troubling, he would never carry out the idea.

She’d more likely cut him in half if he ever attempted such a thing.

“I’ll start with your forearm,” he updates her, bringing his fingertip down to the meat of her structure. She faintly whines in her throat.

“Yes, I did feel that.”

“And?”

“Continue. The area is not so receptive.”

He creates a line from the middle of her arm to her wrist, noting the slender curve of her form. Her model makes no ergonomic sense for its intended purpose, but that’s one of the reasons she piques his interest so.

“Ah,” 2B breathes.

“What is it?”

“I can definitely feel that. There is a lingering sensation. You’ve run a straight formation down my arm, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Still, it’s not enough. Continue.”

9S takes in a deep breath without really requiring the extra oxygen and hovers his fingertip above her open palm. “Tell me as soon as you feel pain.”

“You don’t need to repeat yourself.”

“Right, sorry.”

He pokes the middle of her palm with his index finger, carefully examining her face for any indication of pain. When it yields no results, he looks to the monitor, which also remains unchanged. It could be a bug, or it could be that 2B has a high pain tolerance, given her model type. He changes plan.

“Upping to fifty volts again,” he informs her with uncertainty.

He knows she can handle the electrical current, but if her internals are damaged rather than lagging to connect, it could send her back into shutdown. The Commander would have a fit. He’d be relegated to extraneous bunker duties and surely assigned a different partner. He can’t mess this up.

He presses the tip of his finger to her palm again, noting her facial muscles twitching but not enough to warrant a reliable result. An idea asserts itself into his frame with such rapid speed his body acts accordingly. He spreads his digits and hovers each of their tips above hers, hesitantly pushing down to spread her fingers completely in line with his. 2B emits a soft, low gasp, unlike those he’s heard when she’s in pain. ██It shoots a warm sensation up his arm.

He’s concerned and curious all the same. Two scenarios run through his processors, one in which he runs diagnostics on himself to solve the issue, and another in which he terminates the maintenance and determine 2B’s status as all green.

In reality, he does neither.

A nagging impulse takes hold of his logic, and against better judgement he rests his fingers between the comfortable crevices of hers, gripping to her hand. Her name slips from his mouth as the unusual sensation quickly spreads to the rest of his body. There’s no reason he can find for letting go, for not questioning the line between pain and pleasure, fear and joy. Is it wrong to want to pursue these things and understand them, like those humans did? To experience more of the same? Feeling for the sake of feeling and nothing else. Like whatever’s happening to him now.█

“Alert█—”

Does 2B ever...?

“9S!”

██A spark at his hand jolts them apart from each other, with 9S practically leaping off the bed while a wide-eyed 2B jerks her upper body forward. At any other time, 9S would rush a hand to her back in aid, but seeing as one of his is currently charred black, he has a bit of personal maintenance to consider.

“2B, are you alright?” he nearly chokes, rapidly applying a self-repairing coat of synthetic tissue and extending the item to his superior.

2B glances at him after leveling her breathing, but it’s short-lived as she swiftly wraps her visor around her head and turns away.

“I’m fine,” she replies flatly, denying the tube. Back to her usual self.

“I’m glad,” 9S finds himself speaking aloud. “Thank you for all your hard work.”

“The same to you.”

9S steps aside, watching anxiously as 2B takes her time to retrieve her glove and slide off the bed. She looks over her surprisingly clean hand for any scarring before placing the cloth back over it. From there, she performs several standing exercises to examine her motor functions. She works slowly, thoroughly, analyzing her own body as if she’s never used it before. As if paying no mind to the unexplained spark that just occurred. It only exacerbates the drumming in his ears.

“I wonder what even happened back there,” 9S muses, attempting to fill the almost painful silence between them. “I’m sorry for causing you any trouble.”

Pod 153 hovers to the bed as if on cue.

“Analysis: unit 9S and unit 2B exchanged an electrical current of dangerously high voltage. The power forced unit 2B to exit suspend mode. However, it is advised that B types do not engage in electrical output outside of combat.”

2B’s gaze floats somewhere by 9S’ bare, recovering hand, prompting him to re-glove, but it soon holds him in his entirety. A memory replays itself in his data banks of skirting the city’s open fields with a broken energy shield. Vulnerable and on guard. What relevance does that have here? He’s about to speak, to push aside this unnerving reaction, when she turns to his pod and opens her mouth.

“I hadn’t planned to then, and I don’t plan to in the future.”

She’s definitely back to normal.

As 2B moves ahead of him, no doubt to leave for her other work duties, her line of sight catches on his wash bin atop the desk. Her quietude alone pushes for an explanation.

“Oh, this?” 9S starts. “Right, I guess you’ve never seen this. It’s just my bin of supplies for the bath. I was on my way there earlier, but, you know.”

“Bathing is unnecessary for androids,” 2B states. “Regular maintenance checks are enough.”

9S shifts his weight with a pout. “It’s a work aid, 2B. You wouldn’t know until you’ve had one. Besides, humans did a lot of unnecessary things. What better way to understand them than by trying it out for ourselves?”

2B dips her head. “Your conjecture isn’t wrong.”

9S smiles, feeling a sort of victory while knowing she’ll likely never indulge in the concept. It’s not like he can convince a hardened battle android to take part in something she deems a waste. He’s been down this path before, stuck in a stalemate where neither becomes convinced nor unconvinced, so the simple fact that she acknowledges his method of thinking, perhaps even registers it, is a feat in itself.

“Bath or no bath, there’s work to be done,” she reminds him, walking to the front of her room and urging him forward with a tilt of her head. He follows in her stead, nodding once she turns around to see him off.

But something troubles him.

“Wait, 2B?”

And the pounding won’t stop.

“What is it, 9S?”

“We’re able to feel pain. It’s no doubt a bad thing to experience. So, the opposite of feeling pain must be feeling pleasure.”

2B alters her feet’s positions and stiffens. “This is rudimentary.”

9S waves a single hand in front of his face. “I know, I know, but bear with me. We don’t go out of our way to experience pain, unless of course it’s for a test like before. There’s a direct reason for pursuing it. And many of the things we partake in that _don’t_ cause pain could be categorized as pleasure, which also have direct reasons and added benefits. We don’t do these things simply to do them.”

“Is there something you’re trying to ask?”

“All I’m saying is that humans used to try feeling good only because it felt good. No additional benefits were necessary. It apparently made them happy, and that was a good enough reason. Do you ever try to...obtain that?”

She pauses, line of sight honed in on his before looking off at nothing in particular. “It’s not possible to obtain something intangible. Don’t waste your time.”

He’s overcome with an immediate urge to defend himself.

“Ah, no, I wasn’t saying—it’s not that I’d try to—”

But he ultimately decides against it.

“I suppose you’re right. Sorry for keeping you. Until next time, 2B.”

2B affirms with a hum and a nod before turning around and walking toward command central with other battle androids, unaware of how 9S’ eyes follow her to the edge of the bunker’s curve. He sighs hard, allowing the force to slouch his posture as he finally makes his way to the single-user bathroom, stomping in time to the beating in his chest in hopes of canceling it out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Alert: unit 9S’ pulse rising.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ M-rating starts here :^) ]

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The elevator ride down gives him time to collect his thoughts and organize recorded data in his internal storage. By the time the doors open, the perplexity of the previous maintenance fully dawns on him.

2B was largely unharmed, but while he narrowly avoided catastrophe, the reaction was peculiar at best and deliberate at worst. Neither his own readings nor Pod 153’s retrieved any abnormalities, so bugs and other such glitches are out of the equation. If faulty programming isn’t to blame, what else could there be? Why was he compelled to act out impulse thoughts the way he’s compelled to defend humanity? No secondary benefit for the war effort, personal or otherwise, arose from his actions. And yet, he did it anyway. It’s almost███ █ dirty.

He presses the wash bin to his forehead and groans. A bath will surely fix this trifle.

Arriving at the bath entrance without so much as a second thought, he sets his belongings down to quickly hack the door frame. A specialized precaution to ensure no misuse from other units, though given their opposition to the idea in the first place it might just be extra work. Still, after the older scanners’ group taunt on him the other day, he refuses to take risks with such a privilege. He does, however, leave the door unlocked once he’s in. Safety protocol.

He steps inside once all’s said and done and commands the lights on. The room’s interior is made up of a shallow tub in one corner and a shower in the other, complete with its own low-hanging nozzle and small stool. A drain occupies the center of the tiled floor, perfect for collecting any water that doesn’t get absorbed by the body. As the room is so compact, 9S doesn’t need to prepare much, just run a few tests and manually turn a few valves. Given the chance, he would make the replica as close to the human originals as possible, even if the water reserves have to be shipped separately and the architecture is far from homely.

After filling the tub to adequate levels and activating its surface heaters, he makes his way over to the shower section and places his bin of materials on the floor. He then removes his clothing piece by piece, setting the neatly folded pile atop a shelf by the door and hanging his towel upon Pod 153’s mechanical arms. It’s a routine as innate as his scanning, though every now and then he recalls his first venture into the humanistic ritual.

His prototype of the place included only a bathtub because in various Old World cultures, to his knowledge, a shower was made as a standalone for a hygienic problem he doesn’t face being an android, so he thought nothing of it when creating the room. According to his research, a bath was what made the most fundamental sense for productive output. Showering was meaningless.

He had quickly learned the hard way that sitting in a pool of your own space dust is really, _really_ unpleasant.

It didn’t help that at the time he had also submerged himself fully clad in YoRHa attire, which, combined with the damaging toxins of various oils to transform the clothing into a distressed purple mess, did not please the Commander one bit. So, after reevaluating the notes compiled on humans and differentiating between bathing suits and actual bathing, he forever opted to remove his outfit before dipping into the waters.

9S has yet to recover from the mocking reputation earned on that day.

But after shooing away the sudden onslaught of old memories, he saunters back to the shower station and plops himself down on the ground-level stool, dragging the plastic bin of materials to his side. He proceeds to turn on the water and initiate the activity, removing the nozzle from the wall and turning it away while water heats up.

Time at the shower is relatively short, as he merely does it to superficially imitate the hygienic procedure required by humans before entering a bath. At the very least, he gets to apply repurposed tanning agent that strengthens two whole barriers around his internal parts, as well as lather in an alloy-rich shampoo that recovers damaged strands of fiber atop his scalp. While the process may be longer and less intuitive than standard YoRHa repairs, it’s considerably more cost effective and allows him to indulge in handiwork. 9S has always been the more curious model of the scanner types, after all.

With the water runoff leaving only a residue of sheen and an airy fragrance behind, he closes the shower valves to at last join the tub. He bends down to the tub’s level and places his hand in, light droplets from his hair making contact with the still surface of the bathwater. When the temperature yields itself proper, he sets the heaters to their lowest setting and eases himself into the curved receptacle.

Leftover steam wraps around his body as he covers all but his head in the liquid, and the distinct cool-to-warm sensation is enough to get a contented sigh or two from him. The only thing that could heighten the experience is a good musical playlist, but the suddenness of his prior task left him a bit ill-prepared.

After several deep breaths to disperse static silence he opens a mental document wherein to list items for organizing, strategizing, or, in this case, simply expanding upon.

“Now the real part begins,” he murmurs, peering up at the wall.

Within his mind’s eye a vertical beam of light blinks against black, ready to detail the patterns of his thought processes worth listing. A few symbols extend and collapse, mirroring his uncertainty of what to keep and what to toss.

His eyes shift between ceiling tiles. Limbs fidget underwater. The light continues to blink, unmoving.

He can’t do it.

The only item embedded into his list is a messy string of code detailing the happenings on Earth and in 2B’s quarters. Just a few moments before, he was able to keep his mind clear of unsavory recollections since he was distracted, but now without being able to keep his hands busy, he’s left with only himself and Pod 153 in the corner. 

The thoughts practically assault him. He doesn’t do much to stop them this time.

He replays 2B’s maintenance in broken parts, spending particular time on certain moments of interest. Pain and pleasure receptors reacting to the same stimuli. One morphing into the other, reversing and repeating. He notes the “feeling” beyond tactile that caused his pulse to spike. The rise in body temperature despite nothing in the immediate vicinity causing it. Feelings that were self-contained. Feelings that were good. The experience wasn’t something he could indulge in. It wasn’t a _thing_. Yet, the chain reactions weren’t disagreeable when 2B and he joined hands. He can’t even deny the electrical spark from piquing his interest. His urge and curiosity for more. Sensations spreading from the hand to the body. And then some.

Maybe it can be replicated. Then he’ll understand it more.

2B advised him not to waste time with such things. He should listen to his superior.

 

Although.

 

Advice isn’t really a command.

“Pod, relay 2B’s maintenance from 1631 BT.”

“Affirmative,” Pod complies floating over to the container.

9S closes his puny list and accesses his record of information in full.

He observes various places of touch from the playback and decides to apply the same techniques to his own corresponding areas.

“First up is the arm, I guess,” he utters to himself.

He rotates his wrist in between his fingers, tapping his digits in tandem with the video. Nothing unusual or unique, so he moves on to poke a zigzag across his forearm.

“Nothing,” he sighs, forwarding the imagery, “but it is kind of...nice?” He turns to Pod 153 quizzically, partially hoping it will explain his sentiment. It doesn’t.

2B’s visage upon the floating screen takes hold of his attention, namely her shoulder occupied by his hands. He pushes his palm into his own shoulder on cue, though admittedly unsure on how to approach this one, he skips it.

Skipping ahead a few seconds, he lands at her cheeks and his unorthodox technique. It’s a bit unreal, seeing himself and hearing his voice from a detached source like this, but he overlooks it to focus on his own actions.

He lifts a single hand to his cheek, poking and prodding it to no avail. He brings his other hand to the other cheek and pinches both at the same time, moving the squish of his face around like he did to 2B’s. Still nothing, aside from the embarrassing whorl of thoughts coming at him from every side. At least now he knows what she meant by “strange.” The only thing worth recording is how his facial pads have some give, not completely malleable, but even that’s of questionable worth.

Frustrated by the lackluster results, he covers his face with his warm, wet hands and breathes deeply, leaving the video unattended.

“ _Yes. It's quite warm_ ,” it relays.

9S yields to the barrage of memories and thoughts. Yields to 2B’s artificial voice. He processes every note and syllable as if they all carry their own significance, neatly packages them for temporary storage as if it matters at all to his current situation. 2B had said before that his voice was calming; he thinks he understands it now, understands how something as negligible as a voice can be so impactful. 2B’s is no different. It somehow washes over him, like the calm water of his showers and baths.

“ _Do what you must, but don’t hold back for my sake._ ”██

Like the unforgiving tides of coastlines he’s foolishly collided with.

“Pod, terminate the playback,” he commands, head fuzzy with agitation.

He doesn’t need to see the rest. He remembers it all-too vividly.

All that remains are the hands. He laces his fingers together, expectations unfound. It’s odd—warm, but odd. Still not close to the sensation experienced in 2B’s private quarters. What would it be like to join hands with her again but without electricity? No risk of dangerous volts, only normal heat generated by their units. Sharing that warmth wouldn’t be so bad; more efficient, less waste of energy...

There’s only so much you can do solo.

In a minor fit of annoyance he forcefully drops his hands to his lap with a noisy splash, unintentionally brushing over his inner thighs with his fingertips—but not before gliding over the smooth, oft-ignored object between his legs.

His immediate reaction, without explanation, is to vocalize the sensation. The area is surprisingly sensitive to impact, unlike direct hits in battle which often cause pain, or at the very least discomfort. Instead, the act invokes a response that leaves him in curious pursuit the same way his Earth sorties do.

He places his hands over the large rounding of his thighs and grips them hard, but to his disappointment it doesn’t work the same way. Switching tactics he traces the appendage directly, lightly, which causes him to take in a sudden breath identical to the one made during his maintenance on 2B.

Fingertips ghost an outline, mesmerized and curious. He’s never paid mind to the thing between his legs, only acknowledged it as any other point on his body. It’s just an appendage, an extension of his unit no different from an arm or a leg. He’s well aware of its purpose in the natural world, the Old World, but this doesn’t apply to androids. It’s mere imitation, meant to visually copy humans more than anything. Androids are not created the same way as humans. Still, the fact that it reacted, and not entirely in a negative way, is worth investigating.

With careful consideration he floats his hand over the organ and slowly brings it down over the curved, off-color head. With a single finger he draws a line down to the base, connecting a final dot to his hips. His leg spasms upon contact, complemented by a stifled moan. The sensation is indescribable. Unstoppable and overwhelming, it overrides all thought processers. It doesn’t hurt, but it doesn’t bring about additional benefits like his other activities do, or at least none that he can compute so far. Though at this point, he’s starting to care less and less about that. More is gained by doing than by thinking alone, and he won’t understand unless he tries it again, tries more. More pressure points could produce more results, and any result is a good result when compiling data. It’s what he’s made for.

He takes the soft object in his hand, close to his body, loosely curling his fingers around synthetic skin. He squishes it, unsure of how to treat it. Light touches here and there trigger a visceral response, but otherwise it’s mild. Not enough in the face of the vague bits of Old World text he’s read. He must proceed with different application, but lacking any real working knowledge, he blindly feels around under the dimly lit water.

Figuring it to maximize input, he completely closes his hand around the shaft, sliding up over the rounded tip and lingering there as he registers the sensations between his palm. He then pumps back down slowly, allowing the rush of adrenaline to creep all the way up to his ears. It’s instantly gratifying.

Pod 153 whirs in the background.

“Alert: unit 9S’ pulse rising.”█

“I’m, fine.”

He repeats the motion, faster, with more confidence, until he builds a steady rhythm, however slow. It seems repetition is the key to acquiring that intense feeling from before. So he continues with it.

The fleshy material reacts to his motions, expanding and heating up. It’s reactive around the whole area, but not in the way his optics are reactive to solar rays, or the way his receptors are reactive to environmental temperatures. The way it feels is simply that it feels. It has feeling. It’s just there. It, the whole action, feels _good_.

“Ah, ah.”

And it’s terrifying.

The room spins, though he knows he’s stationary. His entire body tenses, muscles sore from curling toes and locking legs into place. No reason to do, no reason to not do. Just working toward what comes next, what comes at the end. What comes? How is he sure there’s an end in the first place? What would anyone have to say to such an action? What would 2B think after being the one to chide him for his unnecessary pursuits?

2B.          

████████

Oh, _2B_.

“Urgent: immediate care required at current system levels.”

“No,” 9S whimpers, tearing his hand away and pulling his knees to his chest to bury his face between them. “It’s alright,█ I’m alright.” He fists his hands in his damp hair, unintentionally pulling a few strands out between his fingers as he roughly massages his scalp.

In an attempt to ground himself, he opens up a recent memory bank outlining various nature facts, from parasitic spores to birds of prey. He calls out to Pod 153 to request more knowledge on each entry, one by one. Anything to calm his pulse and maintain his levels.

Anything to blank the face of his superior from overriding his thoughts.

"Kingdom: animalia. Phylum: chordata. Class: aves—"

 

Anything.

 

 

"—give them a predatory advantage—"

 

 

 

Anything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“—and popularity in modern falconry. Would 9S like a repeat of the aforementioned entry?” Pod 153 asks after several minutes of silence. 9S hardly notices the transition.

“No, that's alright,” he asserts while draining the tub and stepping out onto the cold tile. “Besides, four times is enough.”

Water collects by the drain as his pod hovers closer with his towel. He promptly envelops himself with it, using internal heat to speed up the process. Bath time is turning out to be the complete opposite of what he originally intended it for, and he’d like nothing more than to return to his quarters. After all droplets wipe off and evaporate, he slips into his secondary set of clothes and retrieves his items. With proper attire, collected items, and the bathroom returned to its former state, he swiftly heads back to his room, narrowly avoiding 21O and other teammates along the way. Once there, situated neatly in his assigned bed, he enters suspend mode as a safeguard against illogical thoughts.

 

 

 ██

 

 

When suspend mode fails and he wakes up to the same nagging problem between his legs, he requests Pod 153 to aid in a complete shut down until his next shift.

 

He'll deal with it tomorrow.

 

  
 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...Just try to relax and enjoy it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Scanner boys time ;) ]

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“9S! Welcome. Not sure I have any new items, but, I’d be glad to help you. Oh, where’s your pod?”

9S barely takes two steps into the aisle before being greeted by 801S, the bunker’s resident maintenance shop owner—if “shop” is to be defined as workbench. All scanner models are built for maintenance, but 801S, known by most for his unique inventory, specializes in chip enhancements and getting his hands dirty on upgrading YoRHa units. So he puts it. As such, his shop transforms into a facility wherein androids queue up for the best service in space. Luckily today, however, the wing is completely devoid of any other units requiring care, so 9S gets right to it.

“Routine check by the Commander,” he explains, “and, actually, I was wondering if I could talk to you about something.”

801S moves away from his terminal to meet 9S halfway, head tilting this way and that to inspect the newer scanner. “Is something broken? Are you not satisfied with the chips I installed last week?”

9S apprehends 801S’ hand at his chin and eases it away. “No, all that’s fine. I mean, partially.”

The dark-haired scanner visibly reacts beneath his visor, but 9S continues lest he sends the wrong message.

“It’s not the installation that I’m concerned about. And nothing’s broken. Most likely. See, I haven’t found any abnormalities, despite somewhat abnormal behavior, but—”

“9S, I won’t know what you mean unless you tell me properly,” 801S softly cuts him off with a vague smile. They both sigh, in very different ways.

9S can only blame himself for the awkward tension. He reminds himself that the one who recommended having another scanner check on him is, well, he himself. Everything is just much more difficult to explain aloud, no matter how many times he’s done it.

“What I say here stays here, okay?”

801S folds his arms. “You know as well as I do that’s against code of conduct if it concerns the greater good of YoRHa.”

Brief images of last night flash before 9S’ eyes and he shifts, suddenly restless. “I’m at least certain that it doesn’t. I just need a thorough maintenance check while I explain some things.” 

The other android groans, but it’s not without a positive hum of endearment. 801S always has a rather cheerful disposition. Most of the time.

“Alright, let’s head on over,” he instructs 9S, waving his hand as he strolls to the edge of the room where a single bed awaits. “You know the drill.”

9S pulls himself up onto the sterile bedding and lies flat, head turning to view as much of 801S as possible. He observes 801S’ careful ministrations, notes the peculiar way he sets up his station and runs diagnostics. Almost like a conglomeration of model generations and even model types. It’s unintuitive for a scanner.

“I don’t usually play doctor, but I also don’t usually get _9S_ in my shop,” 801S jests, bathing 9S’ silhouette in infrared. “Too busy perusing Earth shops, huh?”

9S audibly disagrees in his throat. “Just the busy part. And why the emphasis on my name?”

“You should know, you’re always reminding that battle companion of yours.” A small noise emits 801S’ readings. 9S swallows and props himself up on his elbows to lean into the other scanner’s space.

“Not always, just once.”

801S pointedly taps 9S’ forearm with two fingers. “Lay flat and look up at the ceiling, please.”

He does as he’s told. “Sorry. Anyway, 2B had never been assigned a scanner before. It was part of my job to tell her. I fail to see what’s so telling about that.”

“You may not have been a part of this squadron very long but you’ve consistently bested everyone’s expectations and then some. Do you know why that is?”

9S remains silent. His superior continues on, gaze and gadgets working methodically over his body.

“Your line is unique, and I don’t use that word lightly. Not only are your base hardware specifications the envy of every S-type here—and trust me, I get plenty of customers coming in to upgrade—but you also have, how did they put it, ‘more of a human’s touch.’ That manifests in very interesting ways.”

9S leans up again, mind feverishly attempting to process the dialogue. “‘Human’s touch’?”

He gets a firm gloved palm to his face and is pushed down to the bed. The leather stays there for a while. “Please. I have to at least map your _very still_ body before I can fix it.”

9S mumbles another apology through a pinky on his mouth, which works enough to get the hand away from his face. He peers at 801S directing his tools in a manner that will always perplex him but not enough to talk about it, and waits. Despite being the one to come to the older scanner for help, he’d rather wait to be prompted on when to speak about “that.”

Two minutes of nothing but machine whirring is the itch that gets him scratching.

“So,” 9S speaks up.

“Yes, you were going to explain something.”

“Right. The issue only started yesterday.”

“It must’ve been bad if you came here so quickly.”

“That’s the thing, I’m not sure if I could describe it as ‘bad,’ just an issue. It was concerning, and admittedly my pod issued an alert for my vitals, but I wasn’t harmed. Nothing at all like that.”

9S fights the temptation of fidget habits he’s recorded on Earth from the Resistance members. 801S, on the other hand, seems to smile wider.

“Well, the good news is my readings aren’t picking up anything that should cause alarm. Your vitals timeline shows a bit of an uptick about twelve hours ago, and your OS has a required update that was meant for overnight installation, but other than that I’m not finding anything.”

9S flexes his hands by his thighs. “The uptick was because of the issue. And I had to shut down last night, also because of the issue.”

801S swipes his translucent monitors to the side and plants his hands on his hips. “You had this ‘issue’ and didn’t think to update your OS?”

“I was going to once this was over. Besides, for as much as I don’t know about it, I do know it’s beyond a simple update.”

“At least be more specific, 9S.”

He turns away.

“It’s...” ██Embarrassing.

801S hums. Urges him on.

9S licks his lips. Another unexplained habit picked up from Earth androids. “I had done a little bit of research. On myself.”

“Oh?”

“Normally during baths—” 801S traps a laugh in his throat. “—I sit there and organize data. Clean out storage. _Maybe_ go so far as to file reports based on the day’s findings. But yesterday was different.”

“How so?”

“I found myself asking questions that didn’t really need answers, and, augh,” 9S groans searching for the most accurate words to use.

The other android circles around 9S’ form. “And so...”

“And so I used my own unit to seek out those answers.”

801S dismisses him with a wave. “Too vague. Intriguing, but I need more details if you want me to give a proper diagnosis.”

9S has to hold onto the tail end of his coat in order to resist shooting back up again. “I used my hands to feel various parts of my body, it reacted, and then the alert was issued.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” 801S congratulates with grand motions, “but what led you to that point?”

Maintenance. Touch. Spark. 2B.

█“Nothing.”

“There’s no use lying to your impromptu doctor.”

He sighs but can’t fight back the pull of his hands to his face. “I don’t know the details of what or how, that’s why I’m here.”

Silence builds between them, and it confirms that at least for now, 801S accepts that answer enough to drop the question. The other scanner does nothing but his promised maintenance on 9S, who lay in wait for something to rid him of embarrassment. Again he’s reminded, sudden and unwarranted, of vulnerable moments in battle. Open and wounded. He wonders if his superior is even doing his job or simply goading him for some amusement on a slow day, as scanners are oft to do to him. But the dark-haired superior before him appears hard at work, his smile completely wiped and fingers gesturing his program to perform at full power.

“Anything?” 9S pipes up. “Can you locate the problem and fix it?”

“Who do you think I am?” 801S posits, which is probably meant in good humor, but without his signature smirk it comes off as anything but that. “Sit up.”

9S obeys.

“Turn to the wall and sit on the edge, please,” he’s instructed.

“What do you have planned?” 9S questions as the bare wall fills his entire view. “I haven’t even gotten an answer.”

“I need to open you up manually while you’re still online.”

“What for?” he frets. “Why not just use hacking?”

“No can do. This requires something a bit more direct, not to mention the process for disabling your firewalls is a pain.”

He wants to complain, wants to call into question 801S’ qualifications, but he also doesn’t know how much this procedure is going to cost him. So he scoots to the edge of the bed and waits quietly.

Pockets of various sounds chime behind him, but they’re too foreign to wholly identify. Is that mechanical, or digital? Has his superior ever used something that makes such a noise? He doesn’t know, and as far as he can comprehend he’s not allowed to turn around, either. No matter how much he wants to.

“Not that it really matters, but, will this hurt?” he quietly asks.

There’s a moment of pause before the other android responds, “If you let it.”

Unrefined words jump from inner wiring straight to his mouth. “That’s, I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to.”

Before 9S can retaliate, before he can stop the whole scenario from escalating, 801S places a knee atop the bedding and brings a bare hand into contact with the back of his neck.

He almost goes into █shock.

The sensation of another scanner’s hand is far from unusual, it’s mundane even, so there should be no reason for 801S’ touch to feel so unknown in its familiarity. It’s so smooth and full of heat, warm like 2B’s hand in his, but there’s nothing to stop its motions. No electrical current to spark it away from him. He can even feel the faint curve of artificial nails drag over the top of his spinal system. It makes his back arch without command.

It makes 801S’ monitors ping with a déjà vu tune.

“There’s no need to be anxious, 9S. It’s a quick procedure; you’ve had it done before, remember?”

He doesn’t.

“Please remain still."

He can’t speak, for 801S’ hand is upon his neck again, rubbing over the point of access to his central system. It captivates him, soothing and unwinding, if only for a moment. It allows him to relinquish all negative thoughts before the area becomes exposed. Before needles and static overtake his processors at the impact of machinery inside his core.

“Tell me, what are you thinking?” 801S croons, unfazed by the sudden yelp of the younger android below him.

From the way the pain and heat jolts through 9S’ body, he can only surmise it to be something of a fine-point laser, but it’s offset by the calming actions of 801S’ other hand on his back. Each time he moans in discomfort, twitches from the sheer agony of having his insides tampered with, an immediate presence is made upon his body for reassurance. And likewise, whenever he finds relief in the pacifying motions of 801S’ fingers, another set of digits worms its way inside his neck. The duality is unlike anything he’s ever had to bear.

It fills his mind with improper ideas.██

“I, ah?” 9S barely manages.

“Clearly, please.”

“Good and bad. Both, at the same time.”

“Interesting, however—”

Breaths quiver in 9S’ throat, cut off by the jarring pulse of radiation between his spine. He lurches forward, caught only by 801S’ hand upon his shoulder to bring him back in close.

“—that doesn’t tell me what you’re thinking.”

9S can’t determine what’s worse, the constant switch between pain and pleasure or the interval of unspoken time that passes between the two of them. 801S’ techniques remain largely unchanged, adjusting only to massage a different part of 9S’ body or move around more circuitry.

“I don’t know, which receptors are going off for which stimuli,” he drags out, facial muscles spasming in time with the laser. “It feels good, █it doesn’t feel good.”

“Go on.”

801S continues his motions, expelling air on 9S’ neck and triggering heightened responses throughout his core. He wants it to end just as much as he wants it to continue.

“I want to understand. More of it, all of it. I want, to control it. On myself, or, share it with someone else.”███

801S’ hand falters at 9S’ shoulder blade. For several unending seconds the laser fixates itself on two sections, causing nothing but discomfort that no amount of squirming can aid. He’s about to apply a small recovery he snuck in for this such occasion, but the older android swipes over his spine and securely closes the rear entryway to his internals, ceasing all sensations at once.

“Just as I thought,” 801S proclaims with a push off the bed. He brings up a diagnostic screen in front of 9S and explains, “Your receptors are all jumbled up.”

9S rubs the back of his neck and leers at the wireframe of his unit blinking in several locations. “That’s your official diagnosis?”

801S walks to the center of the room to retrieve a small box from under his terminal. “Mhm. As a matter of fact, I have the treatment for you right here in this very box. Are you going to continue cooperating so I can give it to you?”

9S rotates around the mattress and hops off with a sigh, walking to 801S. “Yes, doctor.”

“This is very serious! But not untreatable, of course. I always have everything you need.” 801S whips around, box in hand. His signature grin is back.

“That’s good to know.”

9S shifts weight, still recovering from the onslaught of conflicting stimuli. The other scanner extends the box until 9S has no choice but to hold it.

“Inside you will find a mild dose of electronic substance, that is, e-drug. Now, the stress you experienced hours prior overloaded some of your internal parts, which is likely what caused the upset in your receptors.”

He looks at his colleague in a stupor, more for the objective simplicity of his treatment rather than a lack of understanding. 801S continues, subjectively due to the latter.

“Essentially, the event is leading you to confuse one stimuli for another in the process of transmitting that data. A small mix up, but the e-drug will help. Take it before whatever activity is making you so anxious, the thing that caused the upset in the first place. It’ll be like flipping the right switch at the right time.”

9S stares down at the box, runs a thumb over it with an alarmingly clear mind, and dips his head. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to send a report if anything changes.”

“Great, but I’m also not letting you leave until you update your OS,” 801S chides as he saunters back to his post. “ _That_ you can do on your own.”

9S pockets the box and stretches, making way for the exit. “I’ve been downloading it for install as we speak. Will be done on the way out.”

There’s a permeating burst of laughter from the opposite end of the room as they grow farther apart. He places his hand on the elevator access point and steps inside when 801S creeps into view.

“9S, don’t forget: peak moments don’t lead to break down if you don’t let them. A body can only truly break down if struck, or infected. Really only the worst of the worst. Just try to relax and enjoy it.”

801S smiles and stands tall, but 9S is unsure of how to interpret the exchange. “Thank you?”

“Stop by again anytime!”

The scanner’s dark hair and contrasting pale smile disappear behind the elevator doors, and just like that 9S arrives at the base ground level, right back to where he started. Dumbfounded and at a loss of where to go next, he wanders the halls of the bunker before deciding to retire to his quarters.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “2-...ah…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ ;) ]

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Along his walk, 9S ponders the legitimacy to 801S’ diagnosis or if it’s just another one of those pranks the scanners have been so fond of lately. There doesn’t seem to be any benefit to pranks and prank culture, yet they do it anyway. And they can get away with it, too, with them being older, higher-ranked scanners than he. What 9S wouldn’t give to have that part of humanity erased from data banks so none of them could have ever discovered it...

He moves and muses in auto-pilot, navigating the bunker toward his squadron’s quarters in a daze, that moment of mental clarity in 801S’ shop easily dissipated. Ceiling fixtures and transporters become mere shapes and colors as he passes by them. Colleagues’ faces hardly even register.

Except 2B’s.

She stands across from 6O, her assigned operator, at a large window overlooking Earth. The two appear rather at ease in their quiet conversation, though it seems to be 6O who carries most of it. He tunes out their dialogue, knowing it to be common courtesy as well as standard code for lower ranks. Still, he’s unusually alert to the presence they make, and he becomes drawn to them, especially after 6O acknowledges him with a sideways glance. At least he can mask any possible detection on their part by offering his services.

“Hello,” he greets the pair. “Excuse the interruption, but I wanted to thank you both for your hard work. Is there anything I can assist with today?”

6O giggles, as she’s wont to do. “As formal as ever, I see.”

An excuse gets trapped in 9S’ voice box as 2B lightly dips her head and smiles. “9S is 9S, after all.”

9S faces 2B for a followup he never receives.

“Sorry,” 6O interjects, “I appreciate the gesture, but I can’t think of anything you could help me with today. 2B-san?”

The battle android shakes her head.

“I see,” 9S responds flatly. “Thank you, anyway. Glory to mankind.”

He resorts to his fail-safe method of exit with the trademark YoRHa salute, angularly placing his hand over his chest like a statue. The other androids merely acknowledge it with a nod—and a wave, in 6O’s case—before he marches off.

“9S is 9S,” he whispers to himself once out of reach, mulling over the various meanings of such a phrase. 2B also never stopped smiling, which in that context, could imply she understands something unspoken. Perhaps she knows his personal issue, but that would require her to have either read his thoughts or heard from 801S, both of which are impossible. Androids don’t exist across a neural network the way machines do, and 801S is obligated to keep benign customer diagnoses private from other androids. It has to be just another offhand comment in typical 2B manner.

His feet drag him to his room, halted only by a stray space rock tapping against a nearby window. It cracks and disperses into glittering shards, vanishing beneath the bunker just as the pristine doors to his quarters slide apart. The partition reveals Pod 153 on standby, which activates immediately upon his entrance. 9S throws himself onto his bed, an act that goes ignored as Pod 153 hovers over with an extended speaker.

“Mandatory maintenance complete,” it projects. “Status: all green. This unit is in 9S’ care.”

9S noncommittally reaches for Pod 153, bumping his knuckle into its outer casing. He quickly rebounds to lightly pat the rear of it, a gesture he’s convinced himself the mechanism is partial to.

“I’m glad to hear it. So, what are my responsibilities for the day?”

“There is no work queue for 9S at this time.”

“Eh?” He blinks, unnecessarily. “No Earth visits, no tests, no nothing?”

“A previously scheduled appointment with unit 11S has been moved twenty hours from its original time.”

“So, in other words, I have the day off.”

“Affirmative.”

“Shock and awe” would be the most befitting phrase he’s learned for the situation. A full cycle without required activity has simply never happened before and is rarely, if ever, supposed to happen in the first place. He can’t react properly. Even during resting periods he has something to do. Whether it’s running tests on the flight units and teammates who come back from Earth or something as menial as storage cleanup, 9S is always kept busy. But a day of nothing? He supposes it could technically be looked at as a day to do anything, but where does one even begin with a completely open schedule?

He groans, unsure of what to make of his spare time. Like clockwork, and like so many times within the past few days, his mind becomes filled with recent happenings too great to lock away.

“What did 2B mean, ‘9S is 9S’?” he catches himself verbalizing. “Of course I am. I am me just like 2B is█—”

A plethora of descriptors sort through his vocabulary, matched in rapid succession to the images of her he has on file. None of the words sound good enough alone.

“2B.”

“Connecting to unit 2B,” Pod 153 relays with an extended screen.

“No, no, no, disconnect," 9S rushes, flustered, "and please discard that audio recording, Pod."

“Affirmative, file deletion complete.”

"Thank you...geez," he groans under his breath.

With how his recent thoughts have been affecting him, and with their direct link to the issue with his body, he entertains the idea of deleting his files, too. A deep clean, with no way to access backup data for recovery. But the implementation of a complete wipe is lengthy, with a nearly thirteen-step process of approvals, and 9S doesn’t have that kind of time. He needs a solution to come as quickly as the impulsive thoughts. To make sense of the sensation spreading from his stomach at the dizzying imagery of 2B’s smile or the ephemeral touch of 801S’ breath on his neck.

He whines, aggravated and heated. With a quick yet clumsy roll he pushes off the bed, accidentally emptying the items of his bag in the process. He sucks his teeth and gathers the dismissable objects into his pouch, stopping only when he reaches the small box given to him by 801S. His finger lightly traces the faint insignia along its edges, but instead of fixating on it he opens it, peering into the even smaller contents. The e-drug lie there, ready for administering; a substance meant to help with a problem that 801S vaguely inclined he should relax more about.

His curiosity gets to the better of him.

Taking the chip between his fingers and up to his eyes, he scans the infrared code to allow his system to begin installing the program. Even without proper experience he knows enough that mild doses take time to spread, time that needs to be better spent preparing.

He presses on, mind swarming with thoughts on the previous day’s washroom events, but this time he doesn’t skirt around the issue. Instead, he brings up his saved databases on pleasure, hedonism, human sexuality, whatever might be relevant to that day, even going so far as to access vulnerable servers in order to find out more. It’s not aligned with standard procedure, but not against protocol, either. The servers are old and hardly used anymore. It’s not his fault if he or any of the other scanners easily hack them for information. Besides, it’s mostly comprised of information found on Earth in Old World artifacts, anyway.

Upon several searches he arrives at connections to copulation, something he’s familiar with yet largely unfamiliar with. Many Old World texts, fictional or not, contain the subject, though described in different terms. On the whole, it’s accepted knowledge among androids that reproductive organs function to populate a given species. But according to this new information, humans, and even some animals, engaged in sexual behavior outside of this purpose. Humans especially performed this action alone, using a variety of methods in order to reach what he discovers is known as “orgasm.” The reasons listed are varied, from improving fertile potency for copulation, to boosting physical activity and prowess, to acting as a sleep aid. But the last reason in particular piques his interest most, one that hovers over him like a billowing cloud: sometimes humans did it simply to feel good.

Despite unearthing the most thorough outline he’s ever found, 9S still can’t comprehend why humans would misuse something and go against its intended purpose, especially when it might not yield profitable results. What overall good does it do to engage in activities for the sole intent of feeling good? It’s a waste of time, just as 2B said.

At least, that’s what he knows he’s supposed to believe.

As it stands, he’s finding it more likely that humans aren’t so complex at all. The real waste is in asking too many questions.

His eyes dart from the small box in his hand to the somewhat larger bin of toiletries nested in his desk chair. With his free hand, and with a steep inhale, he firmly palms down on his groin. The sensation from hours prior immediately revitalizes itself, even through clothing, and forces him to deflate. It further confirms his determination that there’s no other option.

9S forms a beeline to his desk, swapping out 801S’ box for the wash bin and promptly making his exit. He shuffles through the halls unnoticed by his peers and slips through to the single user wash room once more. The thrumming in his ears from his quickening pulse undos any noise pollution from the nearby hangar as memories replay without reactionary pause.

801S’ suggestive, polarizing croons spurring him on; 2B’s soft, calming murmurs taking hold of him.

They act as a guide that pulls him through the door.

With he and Pod 153 inside, the doors automatically lock behind them, and 9S works just as immediately, practically tossing the wash bin in order to strip—only to fumble with his coat buttons once hyperaware of his pod’s existence.

“Pod, mute all non-urgent incoming calls and halt any data retrieval until further notice,” he orders after he successfully removes his coat.

“Caution: it is advised based on previous issuance of these commands that unit 9S does not ignore communications.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” 9S repeats as he hands over his clothes, visor and all, to Pod 153. “I don’t have any duties for the day. Nothing will happen this time.”

Pod 153 quietly confirms the request and lowers to its usual corner on preserved energy, its presence becoming one with the background.

9S hones in on the tub, opening its valves and activating its heaters to get everything started. He hurries through his shower, hardly paying any mind to treating his hair or skin. Minor fidgets and other Earth ticks do nothing to subdue his impatience. All focus is on the inevitable bath, and he’s never felt so eager. The pounding in his chest and throat is no longer tied to unease but rather to excitable anticipation. An unmatched curiosity swells his core and drives him to rush through his process, skipping a few nonessential steps. A first for a scanner as thorough as he.

To his frustration, however, it backfires on him. He’s left to stand in wait by the tub’s anterior as it fills, having rushed through his shower too early to properly submerge in it. As impatient as he is in this moment of whorling emotions, he is careful to match yesterday’s events as closely as possible in order to, in a manner of thinking, set the scene right.

Cool droplets cascade down his unit and collect in spills by the floor drain as time passes, but before the stagnant air can run chills down his spinal system, the bath finally fills to its top water level. With haste he closes the main valve and completes any remaining tasks necessary for stepping into the bath and kneels down to peer at the now still water, small bubbles forming where the liquid has yet to settle. The details in the surface’s reflection are remarkably clear, and for the first time in months he views the intricacies of his own face in full.

“I didn’t know my pupils could dilate,” he speaks to no one, delayed in his realization as the sound of his own voice runs over his cochlea like silicone oil.

He cups his ears with his palms and lightly giggles, massaging around spongy lobes until his auditory reactors catch up. He stands and grips onto the tub’s rim, his fingertips tingling with every move, and in one uncoordinated motion he kicks over the rounded lip and at last submerges all but his head in water. The clash of warm liquid against chilled air envelops his body with a heady feeling, one that forces his mind to wander as swiftly as the sensation does.

His treatment begins with an internal replay of 2B’s maintenance, but without Pod 153 to actually display the event the imagery is choppy and unreliable. Even her voice resonates in distant echoes, sound bites disjointed from one another to form nothing more than vowels, consonants. Breaths. Only his name can be heard clearly in between broken down vocalizations, and the suddenness of clarity causes him to jolt upright as if 2B herself has just walked through the door. But he remains calm, making sure to insert 801S’ words as well. Relax, relax and enjoy.

He fills his chest cavity with oxygen and slinks back down into the water, carefully noting how it glides over him and leaves every inch of his structure unusually warm. It wraps around his figure as saccharine as 2B’s voice, shooting wraith-like sparks across his skin, and for once he finds no reason to worry. His body is heavy enough to tether him in place yet light enough to keep him afloat, but he has no urge to question it. Instead he lets it be what it may be: a good feeling. A feeling good enough that, as he finds out once glancing down at the water, already causes the thing between his legs to react.

And he hasn’t even touched himself yet.

Heat builds up between his bare thighs upon realization and he nearly laughs at the ridiculousness of it all, though not ridiculous enough to turn him away. Not like before. He stares down at it, a carbon copy of the images he reviewed on his monitors with only a bit less color, less detail from an original. He breathes through his mouth, anxious and eager all the same, though with each passing moment the e-drug takes effect it becomes less of the former. He seeks to recreate the past day’s events, time reduced. No more pauses, no more being overwhelmed by self-doubt. Androids are meant to imitate humans, and this, too, is mere imitation, but his member directly reacts to his body’s heightened tension, and that’s real enough for him to continue. To relax and enjoy it, as 801S prescribed.

His hand ghosts over the base, fingers curling around its girth to give it a few pumps. The warm bathwater pushes and pulls around his palm, slips through his fingers to add pressure around his erection strong enough to add to the pleasure. Though originally soft in his hand, the curved organ quickly solidifies until it stands tall, base to tip. He marvels at it, humming contentedly as he slides further down the back of the tub until the ends of his hair make contact with the water. He becomes transfixed by the simple pleasures of a slow, even stroke, but after several uneventful moments he grows too curious to keep pace.

It feels good, ██but it could feel even better.

Before, it was new, all new and uncharted territory. Now, he has some familiarity with it, a base understanding of sexuality and what it means to feel good. It’s only natural that he craves more.

With a stretch and a groan he releases his hand from his erection, keeping any extra reading material in the background for a bit later on. He drags a hand down his entire arm as he stretches, gliding once over his neck then down his sternum. Both hands flock to his chest as his previous touches leave phantom sensations that seem to spread even to the areas he has yet to touch. It’s awkward at first, tickles just slightly as the most sensitive parts of his hands reach the most sensitive parts of his pecs, but then a finger brushes over a protruding nipple and the contact sends a spasming tingle down his stomach straight to his inner thighs. His cock twitches upward in response, and when he tries again, changes tactic to a pinching motion, it rapidly goes from feeling strange to feeling spectacular.

He palms the malleable yet subtle curves of his chest with both hands, massaging around his nipples with all digits until he takes each one between his fingertips with a squeeze. His back arches forward, spurring him on to play even more, to alter techniques and grab hold of the method that gives off the most of that unstoppable pleasantry. His senses are bombarded by an inundating warmth, heart rate no longer a loud nuisance in his ears but rather a rhythm with which to keep pace. It beats close to its cage, but it does not perturb him. He moves with it. Breathes in tandem with it as his mind seemingly begins to melt with the liquid engulfing his body.

“This is only a mild dose,” he softly laughs, one hand swiping over the side of his face as jumbled fingers knead into the squish of his cheeks before returning to his chest.

While experimenting with the pleasure received from groping himself, he drags a hand down his skin and to his thighs. Once there he begins to stroke himself again, his other hand still working by his nipple. He curls into himself with the rush of a newfound sensation more tantalizing than before. After regaining coordination of pace between the two spots on his body, he leans his body against the curve of the tub, placing his neck upon its lip like a pillow. He gazes at the ceiling, lips parted with shallow breaths. His head is filled with only the voices of his teammates, one reassuring him to press on while the other calls his name, however disjointed from the side-effects. The room spins, fuzzy and blurred with his affected eyesight, but he moves with it this time. Patterns and shapes fill his ocular system, and between them she appears. 2B. Exactly as she formed in his memory banks. As beautiful as ever.

Water splashes against his chest and he looks down with a short gasp: his lower back has begun to move on its own, lifting forward slightly to push into his hand, then back down again. He closes his eyes to focus on this new sensation yet the image remains, faint like an apparition, but there nonetheless. A glint of sheen from her pink-dusted lips enters his internal vision, and unlike any impulsive thought before he is piqued by an abrupt desire to see that mouth in motion, up close. Parted into a gentle half circle by his fingers.

“2-...ah…”

Any semblance of speech is reduced to moans and whines as he repeats the motions with a steady rhythm of his hand, utilizing the other one across his body to determine all responsive areas. They all seem to react to something. Though the ghost of 2B’s visage shifts with the ongoing lapse of e-drug, her existence, however artificial in his mind, is strong enough to captivate him. To see it to the end. The only thing for him to do now is build on the sensations. Figure out what can make great from good.

So he imagines what it may be like, if 2B’s soft, smooth, delicate, perfect hand were laced with his.

9S’ back writhes beneath the water, his head practically slamming back against the hard container with a steep whine. He continues to remain composed even amid increased pleasure of every new method, approaching everything with newfound excitement rather than fear. There’s always a way to make it better.

In the midst of his mind-2B’s ministrations, he brings 801S into the picture, mentally placing the older android behind to steady himself in the other’s lap. Just as with 2B, he places his free hand across his skin in a mimicry of 801S’ own touch, hoping to intensify the feeling with each experiment. The other scanner’s voice echoes throughout the room though he knows it to be a mere trick of wiring from his dose, and he uses the lingering sensations to his advantage. He lets the 801S of his mind whisper trivial expressions into his ear as he feels himself, strokes himself, compounds the pleasantries. Wasteful words read in Old World novels that serve no purpose yet only add to the fantasy. It’s futile to argue against doing so when it heightens everything that much more, even when it isn’t real.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” his mind-801S coos, though he can’t say for certain if he didn’t just imitate the words aloud himself. “See what happens when you cooperate, _Nines_?”

801S’ voice fades into 2B’s to purr his name, and the feeling grows, uncaring to whether he maintains pace or changes technique. It rapidly consumes him with a heat as if he were nothing more than dried wood. There’s no fear of breakdown, no overanalysis of the whys and hows. Just touch and pleasure. Just like humans do.

“2B, 2B 2B 2B,” he cries in a mantra. Like the chanting of those wretched machines.

“Alert—” his pod attempts, but 9S blocks it out. There’s no problem, none. █Everything is good.

“Ah, ahn."

A light, runny substances coats his fingers from the tip of his erection, and without another thought he applies it to his member like a lubricant, all the while piecing together parts of 2B to fuel his curiosities.

“2B, ah, 2B!”

9S senses a peak reaching, with everything heightened and electricity traveling from his abdomen to his groin. As if something is trying to expel from his system. Hot tears wet the corners of his eyes as he flips over, propping his upper body onto the front edge of the tub. He extends his body to fit the length of the tub and feverishly humps into his hand.

“Ahn, please, I—”

He barely manages to vocalize against the swell of senses, unoccupied hand desperately grasping the outer curve of the bathtub. He uses it for support as his hips gyrate harder and harder into his hand, water crashing against the walls and over onto the floor just as aggressively. The buoyancy of the water amplifies his sensations, yielding immediately better results.

But most of all, it feels so wonderful he could die. █

“2B…!”

With a strangled moan he sloppily raises his hips above the water and squeezes his erection from base to tip, unwittingly covering the tub and his palm with a tepid liquid. His lower back sputters against his fingers as the emitting substance comes to a halt, and the weight of his body swiftly manifests itself in his aching legs. He collapses against the tub’s curvature, his member slowly softening in his hand to slope downwards against the tub as well.

As the phantom images of his comrades dispel and his vision clears enough to ground himself, he calms his breathing to normal oxygen intake levels and rests there for a moment, humming deep in his throat on each exhale. His mind is still much too foggy to have proper thoughts. With every passing blink his eyelids become heavier and heavier, to the point where he’s not sure anymore if he can rely on himself to stay awake.

“Po… Pod, _mmmh_ , what was?” he asks noncommittally, relishing in the “afterglow,” as it were.

No acknowledgement is made, leaving no other noise to permeate the air but his slowing breaths and arrhythmic drips of bathwater. He stills and hums listlessly, body draped awkwardly over the tub.

It really happened.

The end of an act he so feverishly researched and lost sleep to, happened. No fried circuitry, no elevated levels with cause for concern, nothing—but pleasure, of course. The roundabout paths in order to achieve it were unorthodox, sure, but it was achieved nonetheless. He may have needed assistance and thorough examinations, but the positive effects are still working their way through him, make no mistake. He can draw a close to the whole experiment knowing full well its beginning, middle, and end. It’s clear to see why species engage in this sort of behavior, and why androids would be programmed with the same. He looks forward to the next time.

  
Next time.

 

 

 

 

What else is there to do?

 

  


 

 

 

 

Once the discomfort of his position registers, he unlocks his arms and sits back in the container, eyes glancing hazily at the mess of white below him. Just as question marks begin to populate his thoughts, he takes a coated finger into his mouth for a taste.

“Odd,” he unknowingly slurs aloud, squinting at the spill in front of him, “but, not entirely awful...”

He extends the same finger to drag a nail over the liquid, readying his tongue to work the substance down into his throat, when a loud crash cuts through the still air from the room’s entrance. His arms defensively fly to cover his head as debris and smoke from the doors fling across the room.

“Pod!?” he calls out urgently, though the mechanism remains idle in the corner. “Pod, issuance five-zero-two is no longer in effect, please retu—”

Spreading smoke catches in his throat and chokes out the remainder of his command, and despite the delayed effects of the e-drug still coursing through him, he stands to attack, however unprepared. A silhouette pierces through the clouds of grey and white in a battle-ready stance, with a familiar combative sword, and donning even more familiar YoRHa-grade attire.

███Oh. The room is suddenly█very hot.

“9S, what’s the issue? You sent me a distress signal a few moments ago but were then non-responsive. I had no choice but to come here myself.”

2B steps into the entryway, brandishing her weapon and standing tall to his parallel.

9S remains in the bath’s center█, paralyzed and naked.

“2…”

█Vision full of blur█y  ██ceiling tiles and—

“...B█”

—pitch bla█████████████████████████

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why are you here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Don't be fooled by the length—there's still plenty more after this ;^) ]

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

█████

 

███ x

 

██████A████

 

██

 

.

S

  
  


█

  
  
  
  
  


.

  
  
  
  


.

…

  
  


_...Vo…_

  


_Void...where?_

  
  


9S, afloat in complete absence of light, awakens enough to consciousness. His first thoughts are less-than-welcoming.

 

 _Okay, it’s fine, I’m not dead._ _Not dead yet._

 

Darkness completely engulfs his vision, if he can even call it vision. It’s more of an intangible presence, neither here nor there. No colorful matrices of the real world nor monochromatic greys of hackspace. Just pure black, in appearance and feeling. He has limited access to motor functions—a finger twitch of no discernable proximity to the rest of his body—with his only online processor belonging to thought.

No sight, no smell, no speech, no sense of touch. Nothing—

“Vit...eck...”

—but the sound of another’s voice.

_Who is that? Please, tell me you can hear me._

“...green.”

The voice is a tinny mess of frequencies too garbled to follow in coherent sentences, but the tonal shifts reveal at least enough to understand that his SOS is failing.

_Please let this be a maintenance check._

“...ack box.”

_Aha! That was clearly ‘black box.’_

His senses come to piece by piece as trackless time passes, despite an unknown weight tethering him in place, as floaty as he feels. The voice that guides his supposed maintenance check is still impossible to identify, but he finds solace in the high probability that this is not an enemy capture.

“All green. Maintenance complete.”

_Yes, yes, good. Almost there._

“Initializing manual reboot.”

_That kind of sounds like...wait, ‘manual’?_

At least, the solace was good while it lasted.

“Good morning, 9S.”

As if dropped upon high he crashes back to reality with a shock to his systems and a choked gasp, all functionality rushing back to him, albeit lagging in power. His eyes snap open to blinding light and subtle chrome, oculars correcting jagged lines into focus. With a chest full of withheld oxygen he turns his head, pushing every last bit of air out once his mystery keeper reveals himself.

“Hello, 801S,” he rasps as his vocal system powers up. Not the android he expected to see, and not the one he wants to, either. “Why are you here?”

801S sighs with his entire body and leans on the bed housing 9S’ frame. “Jeez, not even a ‘thank you.’ And here I thought your line was prim and proper.”

9S stares at the older scanner, too intent on finding answers to offer a reply. 801S reverts back to his usual straight posture and folds his arms.

“You died and I brought you back to life.”

“What?”

9S rapidly blinks his oculars into function and immediately sits up, face desperately searching for answers on 801S’ cracked grin.

“Kidding, kidding,” 801S jests with raised palms, to which 9S finds no humor in. “Well, you did get kind of close to it. Good thing I wasn’t busy today or else you would’ve been out of commission for a while. After 2B brought you in—”

9S jerks his head back to his teammate. “2B?”

801S shifts weight, seemingly confused by 9S’ questioning. “Yes, anyway, that one you’re always with, she brought you to me since I was so close by,” 801S explains, though the reality of the words is still beyond 9S’ comprehension. “Apparently you had a system failure and were forced to shut down. She wouldn’t say the cause of it, so I had no choice but to check you out.”

9S steps out of his stupor and glances around the room to distract his rising anxiety. He identifies the space to his right as his own quarters and comes into more consciousness.

“So you brought me to my room,” he states more than asks. His body is back to being unbearably heavy.

801S nods. “Even you deserve privacy.”

He groans, swinging one leg over the side of his bed to face the other scanner. “Privacy?”

A black stretch of cloth drops into his lap from his superior. “Here, your visor. And yes, well, you were also stripped down to your cutaneous membrane.”

9S peers up, drooping eyes and parted lips landing squarely upon the other’s neutral expression. Everything’s taking just a bit too long to process.

“Naked, essentially,” 801S clarifies.

Suddenly 9S feels like he could go for a bit of a sprint. Far away.

“I was, uh, taking a bath.”

“I figured as much, since you were wet and all. You are always off doing peculiar things.”

9S quickly wraps the visor around his eyes, its virtual retinal display activating immediately. “I suppose.”

“I’m amazed you didn’t completely break down,” 801S continues, slowly pacing 9S’ room as he tinkers with electronic data. “Your black box was on the verge of destruction, yet at the last minute your vitals began to dip down into green again. Well, until whatever happened between then and you completely shutting down. Very strange!”

9S’ hands flex. “Faulty parts?”

“Negative. But I replaced some, anyway. Even upgraded them for free.”

He tries finding an exit from the current topic. “You really didn’t need to.”

801S ignores him without pause, dropping his smile in the process. “Honestly, I have never seen a scanner push their body to that limit and not break down.”

He slides over to 9S and inspects his frame with an intense gaze, and though 9S wants to, he can’t speak. Too held up by wandering eyes.

“I guess that’s the perk of being a brand new model,” 801S adds, the corner of his mouth curling to show a quick flash of pearly whites.

“Maybe,” is all 9S can use in defense.

“Whatever you were doing, perhaps it’d be best to tone it down next time? At least take it easy. I thought we went over this earlier!”

9S’ limbs kick into full gear and he rushes off the bed, struggling to lower his internal temperatures as he narrowly misses bumping into his older counterpart. “I was simply taking a bath. I didn’t forget about before, it was probably just some unknown interference. Won’t happen again.”

801S hums and tilts his head away, taking precisely one backwards step of allowed distance.

“Regardless, thank you for your service,” 9S continues, asserting himself through and toward the door with his pod. “I have to get back to work now.”

Even though there is no work.

“Of course.”

They walk out together, reaching their point of separation and turned backs, when 801S’ voice cuts into his membrane once again. “Oh, by the way.”

“Yes?” 9S rounds off his tongue as sharply as he rounds on his heels.

“I won’t tell 2B.”

If auditory input could damage the body, his circuits would be frying.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he calls out, but 801S is already sauntering away, one hand waving casually to the side.

9S takes in a deep breath, tossing his head to the blank ceiling of the bunker’s halls and exhaling slowly.

“Pod, remind me to never take a bath again.”

Pod 153 whirs by his shoulder. “Request confirmed.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can sense your temperature irregularities from here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Almost there, folks .... ]

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“2B!”

9S side steps in tandem with his teammate, acutely dodging the encircling line of fire of a large forest machine. It’s his and 2B’s first mission together of nearly a week, but the lapse in time has hardly altered their efficacy. They evade a barrage of electric bullets with pinpoint accuracy, untouchable traces of their bodies in the bullets’ wake. They effortlessly maneuver over bursting tree roots and flank the creature, making sure to execute several long-range counterattacks in between strides. Even their pods move in sync, unleashing a charged combination of strikes that leaves no ounce of the enemy unscathed.

It almost makes him satisfied, how he moves with 2B in a way that hasn’t been experienced for what feels like years. It’s as if, though not something he’d admit aloud, he missed her companionship. Walking, running, fighting.

█  ██Moreover, he missed cutting down the enemy like this with her.

“Can you hack it?” 2B asks, breath faintly hitched from combat.

9S continues evading and drawing the machine’s attention while his peer attacks. “I think so.”

“Then do so.”

He pauses to turn to her, feet locked into position, before giving a firm look back at the creature and extending his arm.

Electric orbs pulsate from his palm and form a blinking bridge between them. The machine jostles about with its monstrous body amalgamated from junker parts, forcing 9S to exert as much energy into the hack as possible. 2B diverts the enemy long enough for him to breach the initial firewall and then he’s in, hackspace secured and ready for infiltration.

The first wave is easy enough, despite the machine’s size; no advanced code to bypass nor extensive offense to overcome. It puts up the bare minimum of a fight, but it’s over within mere seconds. His control is warped back to his host body, vision overtaken by the machine’s sputtering body stunned in place. 2B initiates another physical attack, and he proceeds another wave of hacking.

Likely due to the machines’ rapidly evolving neural network, the second firewall is stronger than the last, much to his annoyance. Its core is protected behind layers of code inaccessible without first removing its defensive barriers, but it’s nothing he hasn’t already dealt with before. He avoids any tampering from the AI with ease, administering a direct hit that exposes the enemy’s core programming and severely weakens it. Just as he delivers the final blow, ready to move on to the next round of hacking, the digital space shakes with an unsettling groan. Imagery flashes before him of a machine common engaging with wildlife. They do no harm to each other.

“How much longer?” 2B demands as 9S is jerked out of hackspace.

“Just one more,” he pants, head spinning with disarray.

He enters hackspace once more, knowing well this will leave the machine on its last leg. This time the firewall manifests itself as a maze sectioned off by labyrinth puzzles. Each area houses its own offensive units—minor inconveniences. He wastes no time in getting directly to the center of the machine’s most vulnerable internals, but something’s out of place. Even after taking down its defensive barrier, it doesn’t fight back. Instead it emits another horrendous noise, one of sheer animalistic pain, almost as if weeping. He receives more jumbled imagery depicting the machine transforming its body to better match the four-legged animals around it. Then another, of faceless yet familiar androids charging, weapons brandished. His heart rate quickens as he unleashes a deluge of irreversible damage and his foe cries out. Crimson coats the earth floor, visceral and mechanical.

9S withdraws at breakneck speed, body heavy with the weight of his foray. The machine lurches forward with an oil-corroding scream and stills, a soft glow radiating from its center.

2B shouts 9S’ name and he snaps out of his stupor, nodding in silent understanding.

The two androids leap backwards with the help of built-in thrusters, gaining enough distance and momentum to escape the wooded nook just as the creature sets itself ablaze. Shrapnel kicks up at their heels, deflected only by 9S’ protective shield. Scorching heat from the explosion wraps around their temporary bubble and threatens to penetrate it, but they continue running until their feet soak from a nearby stream. They scour the enshrouded woodlands and, once in the clear, finally begin to breathe easy. For the most part.

“Are you alright?” 2B asks, hand planted on 9S’ shoulder blade, though he doesn’t need any assistance. Odd, but he quickly grows accustomed to it. He’d do the same.

“Yeah…yeah. That was close, huh?” He knows the situation wasn’t close at all, but he wants to gauge 2B’s reaction, however predictable. Plus, he could really use a distraction.

“Yes, but it wasn’t strong enough in the end,” she replies and turns away, recoiling her hand and with it the intense warmth upon his back. He’s hit with a sudden pang in his chest, unrecognizable but unworthy of fretting over.

“That’s true. I guess we’re just too good. It’s nice to be teamed up again.”

2B continues facing onward and away, unreceptive to his banter.

“Oh well. No use worrying about it.”

“I wasn’t worried,” she pipes up, pivoting to meet him.

Her matter-of-factness always amuses him. He’d like to admit to her one day that he thinks it’s “cool,” a concept he learned from other YoRHa members who coincidentally hold the same sentiment.

“Of course you weren’t. At any rate, I’m sure the operators will find this data useful.”

Pod 153 draws close, picking up on his gestures for command. “Connecting to operator,” it relays.

21O’s visage appears against a backdrop of green, almost as clear as the crystalline waters below. “Perfect timing,” she announces.

9S glances on expectantly. “What is?”

“I’ve just finished sending off that reward I promised you.”

He catches a slight head tilt from his teammate and is overcome with a desire for swift resolution. “Ahh, yes, thank you. I’ll be sure to pick it up it at one of the terminals.”

“That won’t do. It’s in a small package I’ve arranged with the nearby resistance leader. She’ll be delivering it to you.”

“Anemone…” he trails off.

“Great, so you don’t need me telling you where to go,” she continues, eyes closed in what appears to be relief, however short-lived. “I was originally going to just wire it to you, but one of the other scanners insisted on adding a few contents. ‘A small gift to aid in today’s mission,’ he told me. I don’t like to quarrel over triflings so I allowed it this once.”

There’s only one scanner it could be, that much he’s sure of. But the supposed “gift” is something he’s more concerned about.

“I’ll be sure to head over there before returning to bunker.”

“Excellent. Well, that’s that. What is it you called for?”

9S flicks his wrist upward and rotates it, using his other hand to hover over a separate monitor. “Just forwarding a bit of data. Figured someone as smart as you would find it valuable.”

A moment of silence and stares hangs in the air like a choking sand storm.

“Flattery will get you nowhere. 21O out.”

She disappears. And the day was going so well for 9S, too.

“At least we both got something out of that,” he murmurs before turning to 2B, whose expression has unchanged. “Looks like we’re headed for the Resistance camp.”

“Yes. We can replenish our supplies and rest, as well.”

“Oh,” he peeps, unprepared for her suggestion, “yeah, that’s probably a good idea. We’ll set up camp at camp, hehe.”

2B does not laugh in return. 9S ducks his head and proceeds behind her.

Their journey out of the forest kingdom is uneventful, especially since following their previous encounter. 9S attempts to fill the gaps of quietude with conversation that quickly becomes inconsequential monologue. A brief inquiry here, a minor observation there; white noise that all leads to the same passive reaction from his partner.

He hardly notices the warming air upon passing through the abandoned shopping mall.

2B’s pace slows enough for her back to steadily occupy a third of his vision, almost to the point that he nearly bumps into her. He draws distance between them and turns a quarter, keeping a watchful eye for whatever machine lifeform is around the corner that she would so carefully be inching towards. But when they reach the center’s entrance to no enemies in sight, he stops with her and opens his mouth to inquire.

He concedes to her beginning the conversation instead.

“You said once before that you would buy me a T-shirt, correct?”

If it were said in any other area, he might have questioned the relevance, but he lets it slip under the radar and proceeds to engage. “Given the chance to? Absolutely. I did promise, after all.”

“Hmm.”

She glances at the decayed escalators, head gradually nodding in succession with the unrecognizable storefronts before returning to the open land before them. 9S takes a step forward under the expectation that the conversation will end there, as conversations have ended the same way so many times before, but he’s caught off guard by her voice.

“You also said it would be ‘something that looks good’ on me,” she utters peering down at her open palm, turning it over and curling her fingers like a wave before twisting sideways to him. “Tell me what that is.”

He lifts his head, briefly at a loss for words. Desperately wishing he could transmit the data instead of converting it to speech.

“I don’t know much about what humans used to wear,” he begins, “but you know how we’re all assigned certain attire for work? It’d have to be something like that, something that suits you. Um, like—”

“I’m aware of the phrasing,” she butts in. “I want to know what it is that would look good on me, what you would buy me.”

He jerks slightly forward, frozen in place and bested once again by her demeanor. For a moment he outright stares as he processes the appropriate response. Faint rays gleam onto 2B’s poised form, like a spotlight bathing its actor upon a stage. █A familiar scene, repurposed for something much more deserving.

“I don’t know, I haven’t given it much thought,” he lies, and she can most definitely see through it. “But, okay, well, I’d say... I’d say, probably...”

 _Any- and everything_ , he wants to but knows he can’t reveal. Another day. Maybe.

“Something colorful.”

“Colorful?” 2B parrots.

“Yes!” he responds a little too enthusiastically. “T-shirts were all about representing something else, like a picture or a phrase, so they ended up with a variety of color and design applications.”

She crosses her arms and leans to the side. The skepticism behind her visor practically bears a hole in his head.

“I learned it from the Operators one day while you were out.”

“I see.”

He coughs. Must be all the dust. “Anyway, most of them didn’t make any sense to me, but since you’re always wearing standard YoRHa uniform, I think adding color would be a good change of pace.”

She unfolds her arms and 9S braces for her retort. “These uniforms ensure we perform our best at all times.”

“Of course, of course.”

“But,” she continues just as he prepares to walk out, “that does sound nice. I look forward to it.”

With a soft turn of her heels she strolls towards the bridge outside. 9S, overcome with a bodily warmth now not at all unusual, hops to her side and steps with her.

“Maybe we could wear matching T-shirts,” he suggests with arms behind his head.

Her reply is swept up in the wind of her thrusters, but he swears he heard a “maybe.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


After a few small encounters of lesser machines they arrive at the provisional camp, pods in tow. They pass under collapsed entryways of bygone structures and cross into markedly exposed yet secure grounds. Sunlight breaks behind skewed buildings and peeks through cracks to pool onto the domain’s center where a single patch of green remains amongst an ocean of beige. Resistance members, distinct in their taller statures and diverse features, peer up from their posts across the camp. Their expressions are blocked by the fixtures upon their eyes and the overhead sun, but they quickly accept the pair of newer androids as familiars. Everyone resumes business as if to both acknowledge and ignore their existence.

“2B, 9S, welcome,” a gentle voice greets. “It’s always good to see you.”

“Likewise,” 2B adds as the two of them approach Anemone, the camp’s leader. 9S shows his agreement with a simple hum.

“We’re experiencing a bit of a lull so any new company will surely rekindle the energy of this place,” the older android explains, head rounding to acknowledge the display of sulky comrades. “Although I do suppose it also means things are somewhat at peace, so please, enjoy yourselves here.”

“Will do,” 9S assures.

Anemone directs herself to him, eyes maintaining the kindness of her model against the hardness of her environment. “I can’t believe I almost forgot: there’s actually something here for you, 9S, though I’m sure you’ve already been briefed on that.”

“That easy to read, huh?” he chuckles. 2B clears her throat for unknown reasons.

“Everything is in the safe room. Take as much time as you need.”

“Thank you,” the two younger androids manage to overlap together, bringing with them an air of awkwardness. At least for 9S it’s awkward. 2B doesn’t appear fazed at all.

He takes the followup lead this time.

They saunter to the room, 9S slightly ahead of 2B, and sure enough, within the musty, worn-down, questionable excuse of a housing unit, the box waits on his bed. He hasn’t been able to give any thought to what may be inside it, too preoccupied with his mission and, well, 2B, but now with no other immediate objective it’s all he can think about. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t rattle his heart, just a little.

“What do you think is in it?” he asks as 2B floats behind him to her designated bed. He keeps her in the corner of his eye, carefully noting how she delicately seats herself and pats the top of her pod’s exterior.

There’s a word for this sight, and for this tightness in his chest, but he can’t recall.

“You’ll know if you open it,” she answers plainly, hands folded neatly in her lap.

He exhales defeatedly and walks forward to the box, executing a hack to unlock it. Despite his eyes on the container, he knows her eyes are on him. It’s a tremendous weight.

“But, since you asked,” she interjects, cutting through the void of sound just in time for the box to swing open. “Some credits, program upgrades, and ore.”

He’s in shock. Not only from her accuracy, but from how much she’s entertained his rhetoric on their mission today. It’s unprecedented, and under different circumstances he might be concerned, but for now he goes along with it. Cherishes it.

“So close, 2B. Amber instead of ore. And not just _some_ credits, thank you very much.” He digitizes the items and disperses them evenly amongst the two of them before stretching. “I guess that’s it. I say we rest.”

“What about the other contents?”

“Eh?” he mumbles and slumps to the bed in one uncoordinated go.

“21O mentioned a gift, separate from the reward. We should make sure it was included.” She stands with urgency and makes way to him. He immediately regrets engaging with her rare curious side.

“It’s, it’s in here, no issues,” he affirms without confirmation, scrambling off the bed to prevent her from looking through the box herself. “No need to be concerned. Besides, it’s like you said: ‘a gift, separate from the reward.’ Gifts are meant to be confidential, right? Wouldn’t want you breaking protocol.”

She stares at him and his upturned palms, offering no indication of understanding until she rolls her shoulders and walks back to her mattress. It’s enough for him to level his pulse and resume like normal, flipping around to the pristine container in front of him as she occupies her side of the room. He stalls until she lay flat on her bed to assumedly power down, and braves another look inside.

With 21O’s reward out of the way, he can’t ignore the horizontal divider in the middle of the box. He inhales sharply as he fingers around for a way to remove it and, maintaining held breath, lifts from opposite ends. His eyes work feverishly to scan everything lest he withhold any more oxygen. Underneath the tiny wall, now placed on the floor, rests a single casing of chip upgrades, a modicum of various replenishments, palm-sized packets containing the words “warming lubricant” and “massage oil,” and—

“Huh!?”

—an open pouch of peculiarly shaped apparatuses.

He nearly chokes on his own exhale.

“Is something wrong?” 2B presses, calm yet prepared to act based on her suddenly upright body position.

“Uh, no, no, it’s, no,” 9S fumbles, slamming shut the box and locking it. “Nothing wrong, just, grateful. For the gift.”

Even a defunct android could cut through the tension in the room.

“I’ll be right back, continue resting,” he assures and rushes outside, deliberately avoiding the look of doubt on her face and the initial refusal to stay behind.

Once beyond the room’s walls and in a relatively secure area hidden from prying ears, he commands Pod 153 to issue a call to bunker. The call goes through instantly.

“You got my gift!”

“801S, explain this.”

“Certainly,” the maintenance scanner obliges, too chipper for 9S’ taste. Ever. “Though unusual in appearance and seemingly non-functional on their own, when used in combination these items can prove invaluable to a successful intimate session. For example, what humans called a ‘sex toy’ is—”

“Stop, stop, _please_ ,” 9S asserts, voice practically shaking just to keep hush. “I don’t need help understanding _what_ you sent me, I need help understanding _why_ you sent them to me in the first place.”

801S grins, and _oh_ , what 9S wouldn’t give to permanently remove that image from his memory banks

“You are YoRHa No.9 Type S, one of the most advanced scanner models in existence. You'll figure it out.”

“Wh… No, you’re going to tell me right now.”

“Closing communications with this channel for twenty-four...make that thirty-six...hours. 801S out.” The screen dulls to grey until it disappears entirely, and 9S is left alone.

He groans through clenched teeth and staves off the impulse to rush inside and chuck the box all the way across the universe directly into 801S’ workbench, but he gives up on the notion and instead composes himself for return. 2B is likely waiting for him.

Except she’s not, as he finds out upon re-entering the room. Both she and her pod have entered sleep mode and make no move to react to his entry. He sighs heavily, thankful only for the fact that it proves the box was left untampered.

“What a mess,” he mutters under his breath, pulse experiencing an uptick as he glances at the box and remembers _that_. “2B...”

Just as he leans against the wall for physical—and emotional—relief, the door slams shut next to him and, as if on cue, 2B exits sleep mode, limbs working effortlessly to confront him. 

“Yes?”

“Oh, I wasn’t, um,” he fails in explaining himself. “So, looks like you’ve gotten a head start. I’ll be following you shortly. Sorry to have woken you; not used to these old-fashioned doors.”

She angles herself back down on the bed, unperturbed by his anxious behavior even as he shuffles to his bed and clumsily places the box to the floor. He goes through the necessary steps to secure the room before putting his pod to sleep and climbing atop the stiff mattress. Despite the necessity, he doesn’t rest just yet, mind processing too many wild ideas from 801S’ “gift.” He’ll figure it out like the other scanner said, sure, but the time wasted just to get there frustrates him more than anything.

“I don’t have access to any kind of private bath here,” 9S whispers as faintly as he can. “Why send it _here_ when I can’t even use it until I’m _there_?”

He fidgets atop the bed and rolls to the side, then onto his back, and on to his side again. His eyes dart below to the box as he hoists his head up with one hand and traces the edge of his bed with the other.

“‘Aid in today’s mission,’” he repeats from earlier, slow and deliberate as if it will decrypt the meaning.

2B lightly grunts from her slumber, catching his full attention in case she surprises him with any more confrontations. His gaze dances around her silhouette, pausing every now and then to watch the rise and fall of her chest, the subtle movements beneath her eyelids. He rotates onto his stomach, observing her from a safe yet precarious distance as 801S’ words replay in his mind.

“‘Intimate…’”

A familiar thought intrudes itself, something of a memory he’s come to learn is called a “fantasy,” and then it hits him all at once.

“It’s for 2B and I to…!?” He aggressively flips over and buries his face beneath his arms to muffle any leaking outburst, legs kicking this way and that as if to ward off the added burden of knowledge. The heat from outside somehow finds its way under his clothes.

2B stills once again and he does the same, holding his breath and flattening his body as much as possible, regrettably catching sight of the raising bulge in his shorts.

“2B?” he speaks hardly above an exhale, voice cracking the whole way.

To his luck for once, she doesn’t respond. Their pods whir, but they too are unresponsive. He inflates with a grumble and a whine, unsure of what to do next. It was fine then, alone in his quarters. But 2B is here now, and that changes everything, even if she has no real presence at the moment.

He groans and turns to face the wall, clenching his legs together and choosing to ignore the problem by forcing it out of his system as quickly as possible. He’s done it before with the aid of his pod, but even without that, he’ll find a way to distract himself before powering down. As long as it doesn’t involve 2B.

Should be easy.

He closes his eyes, senses honing in on the subtle commotion outside. Wind carries the chatter of earthly critters alongside gruff laughter and shrill protest. Tools clamor in the distance with the impact of steel too brief to build rhythm. Closeby Anemone praises another member before excusing herself to take a call. 801S issues a firm reminder of the dubious items in his possession and how to use them.

His eyes snap open. That last one was definitely a false recording. Probably just the stress of being awake for too long of a cycle interfering with his sensors. He tries again.

There is Anemone again, making small talk with someone on the bunker. One of the operators, it seems. A bird chirps from outside of the safe room. Pods whir. 2B desperately commands his name.

“Damni _ugh_.”

He stifles a throaty grunt into the mattress and recoils his body into itself. The pressure from his thighs on his groin only cause his member to throb even more, completely unforgiving to his inner turmoil. His fingertips brush the sensitive tip of its head and the fantasy creeps back into his membrane.

“2B.”

He welcomes it entirely.

Giving attention to the needy thing between his legs, he palms himself through the fabric and sighs. It doesn’t feel nearly as good as his bath time sessions, but it’ll do for now. It has to do for now. He builds upon the hypothetical scenes he’s grown so accustomed to, imagining how he might apply his new items, however unusual to him. He pays careful attention to the 2B of his mind, making sure to gauge her reactions for pleasure. Which is all of them, of course. Each gentle hump lends itself to more curious musings, desperate hands diving beneath fabric to wrap around it. Every move of his hand at his erection fuels the fantasy even more, spurring him on to softly call out her name like a drawn out chant.

“9S,” she responds, remarkably clear for a mere mental phantom.

“Ye… Ah,” he gasps, ripping his hands away from his body and stiffening with the mortifying realization that that was not at all his mind’s 2B but real 2B. “You, are awake?” The drumming of his heart is so strong it practically overpowers his own words.

“I can sense your temperature irregularities from here.”

He’s approaching a panic. “Typical Earth climate, heh. So hot out here.”

“Lying to your superior is a punishable offense.”

“I’m, not.”

“9S.”

She audibly kicks her legs over the side of her bed and rises, steps gaining headway to his side of the room.

He’s now on the one-centimeter edge of a panic.

“Perhaps you are unaware,” she drags out midway to his bed, “but you were saying my name again. Like you did that day.

“Huh?” he chokes.

She makes her final stride to the foot of his bed and sits, never once looking away. Never once failing to make his vitals work in overtime and his mind to race with poorly timed thoughts.

“When you sent me a distress signal from the lower levels of the bunker.”

 _Oh no_.

“And I had to report you to maintenance.”

 _Anything but that day_.

“I, um, don’t remember at all,” he lies, again.

She hums and slides a bit closer, hands folded gently at his ankle. “Of course. You had almost self-destructed by that time. It would be a feat in itself if you managed to recover any conscious memory of that.”

9S, apprehensive at the turn of events yet hopeful for the conversation’s swift end, forces a small laugh and adjusts himself for powering down. He can’t shake her hands off of him.

“Well rest assured I’m not experiencing any emergencies or possible self-destruction, so we can both go back to sleep.”

“However, you deserve to know the missing information,” she goes on without him.

“That’s not really...” Her rear slides backwards and bumps into the inside of his calves. He whines in his throat, unable to break free from her intent gaze. “Okay.”

“It wasn’t the simple fact of you saying my name, but how you said it, and how often.”

Another choked hum of active listening. She continues.

“One distress signal would have been enough, but you kept going. Even after you entered a battery-reserved stasis, you would communicate my name until I handed you over to maintenance.”

“Probably a bug?” Another lie, but in truth he knows he’s in too deep at this point to redeem himself. He still tries to cover the protrusion in his shorts, though.

“I thought it might have been, but there was no urgency in your signal. Your voice was calm. Content, even. It was new.”

This _is new_.

His voice escapes him, but it’s likely she can read his thoughts loud and clear. She has that effect on him, no matter the circumstance.

“And here, now, you’re doing it again.”

“I’m sorry,” he reflexively apologizes, struggling to keep collected.

“That’s not it,” she objects. “You’re doing it differently. When I confront you, you stop. You even attempt to lie, albeit poorly.”

“Sorry,” he parrots, glossing over the implications of her words.

“9S, is it something you’re ‘ashamed’ of?”

He grunts in defense, voice finally returned. “No, no, it’s just… What I feel, a lot of it about, um... I can’t help it, and—”

“9S,” she interrupts with a firm gloved hand on his thigh, “you don’t need to tell me what I already understand.”

He gawks at her, dumbfounded.

He’s amazed he’s stayed hard for this long.

“But you’re always telling me how things are unnecessary. I can’t even get you to try a bath.”

They stare at each other in silence. Agonizing silence, for more than one reason.

“Things can change,” she replies bluntly.

Unconvinced by her response, he moves to counter. “Designations can only alter so much about themselves.”

“Do you not think I’m also equipped for this?” she invites, hands snaking up his legs as she crawls into his lap without warning.

He gasps upon the sudden, aggressive touch, erection pulsating against her smooth uniform. She radiates more warmth, with her clothes seeming...somehow tighter, in certain areas.

“I mean, if we’re comparing to my model...”

“Don’t mistake my silence for a lack of interest,” she contests, weight pressing down into his groin.

 _Oh_.

He can definitely feel that on him.

“I thought emotions were prohibited,” he breathes, air as hot as the unease between his legs.

She chuckles through her nose, soft and light, the sort of sound he’s ached to hear. “Not when you’re off the clock.”

He can no longer deny his greedy hands from holding onto her thighs, fingertips indenting her supple skin so desperately he thinks it might cause marks. She reacts accordingly, shifting her legs on both sides of him to allow for more, never once removing herself from his body. For a moment their hips align with an evenly matched rhythm before it all becomes too much to bear.

“So,” he exhales, mouth dangerously close to hers, “where do we start?”

2B places her hands atop 9S’ and pulls them to her visor, wordlessly directing him to undo the light headgear as she loosens the knot on his. Its HUD flickers offline, giving way to pitch black as his visor becomes nothing more than a piece of cloth. But soon enough both headgear slide away to reveal grey eyes more intense than any burning star. She smiles at him placidly, maybe even a bit playfully, and parts her lips against his.

“Here.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is this what you want?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ ]
> 
> [ EDIT April 12 4:58pm: Please let me know if anything is too difficult to follow. Or any other red flags. And I will fix them. Enjoy! ;) ]

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A kiss is defined by a touching of the lips to any surface, usually that of another pair of lips, as an act of greeting or affection. So 9S has read.

A kiss with 2B, he quickly learns, is defined by its total and absolute control over him.

Briefly looking back on his readings, he had no idea that an activity relegated to such a small area of the face would require so much participation from the whole body. But as his fingers sift through her hair just as involuntarily as her hands stroke his cheeks, he soon finds that affections are beyond his ability to define. For once it doesn’t matter if his ministrations are correct or not, done proper in the way of the Old World or not. When something as subtle as the shift of her thighs atop his groin fills him with such unbridled pleasure, he doesn’t care to do it as humanly as possible. All he cares about is doing it as 9S- and 2B-ly as possible, even if it means their mouths don’t always line up perfectly. His only hope is that his companion resonates the same.

“2B,” he quivers against her chin after clumsily breaking the chain binding their mouths together, and even the sound of his own voice runs a current along his circuitry, “what are you thinking about?”

She removes her face from his cheek and extends her arms to float higher above him. “We’re kissing, aren’t we? So, I’m thinking about kissing.”

He groans, partly due to her terse reply but mostly due to the pressure upon his erection from her movement. “Let me rephrase: what do your thoughts entail? What do you think about...kissing me?”

She leans back atop his lap as he searches her mystifying features for clues, though it just seems to make the throbbing in his pants intensify.

“I think, we have a lot more work to do,” she insists, eyes connecting a line down his abdomen in harmony with her fingertips.

He accepts the non-answer immediately, eagerly, with only a slight flutter in his stomach from the uneasy excitement.

“Work? I thought we were off the clock,” he teases with newfound, heedless confidence.

The muted grey in her eyes lights with an unidentifiable spark, and in one fell swoop she yanks his wrists behind his head with a hold just tight enough that he wouldn’t dare slip out of it. She dips down low and presses into his erection, resting her forehead against his so that the only thing he can see is her tantalizingly wrathful gaze.

“Don’t talk back to your superior.”

Something of a fearful arousal jolts his systems as he moves to apologize but is cut off by the abrupt takeover of her mouth on his. It only takes a few seconds for him to realize this is yet another expression of affections, something that, if his compulsory moans are any indication, he could get used to very easily. He squirms under her weight, unable to move anywhere except in line with her ample form, and it only invigorates him even more. Whenever she pushes into him he pushes back, though not forcefully enough that he could actually break free. He’d rather give her enough power to keep him there, chest to chest with their moans traveling between each other’s mouths, though noticeably his fill most of the atmosphere. As he adjusts to her kisses, now as natural as his retinas adjusting to light, he builds upon the act with his hands and hips. He bends his knees beside her and raises slightly on the balls of his heels until his concealed bulge slips in place with her visible crevice, maintaining a gentle rhythm of delicate humps while his hands are restrained. A startled hum slips into the air and he projects a smiling, victorious mental image of himself for causing such a reaction from her—which turns to brain static as soon as she spreads her tongue across the underside of his lips.

Kissing on the mouth is one thing. One great, already-familiar-thing. Adding tongue, on the other hand, is something else altogether, something he must have overlooked in his research. But it’s no problem for him, as he simply accepts the moist extension of her body with an open mind and even more open mouth.

He promptly allows her inside him, reveling in the sensation of her tongue moving around with all of its sides until no area is left unexplored. He closes around her, trapping her just long enough to feel the strange yet delectable ridges with a few of his own. Every now and then, with intent or without, they suck on each other until air pushes them apart and they desperately crash back into each other like nothing transpired. Like they are the very essence of each other’s power source and without joining mouth to mouth, skin to skin, everything will come to an end. The only direction to move in is forward, to follow her lead and learn more about this fascinating development between them. So, in order to speed up the process, he adds his own variable to the experiment: teeth.

One sharp bite upon her bottom lip is enough to pull a shrill gasp from her throat and cause her to fumble against him. He smiles against her open mouth, pleased by the swift results, and prepares an equally mischievous dialogue.

“2B, it looks like—”

She tightens her grip on him and jerks down into his crotch, biting so roughly at the junction of his neck and jaw that he loses all ability to speak.

“You’re not listening,” she chastises, pulling away to stare him square in the eye.

It’s terrifyingly stimulating.

“On your knees,” she commands, letting go of his wrists and scrambling backwards to sit from the opposite end of the bed.

Awestruck with a heady, impish desire, he turns to face her and plops down with his heels holding up his rear. “Like this?”

“No. Turn around and get on all fours.”

“All four what?”

One part of him is convinced she already knows he’s purposefully goading her and that they’re operating on the same wavelength. The other part is beginning to wonder if this should all be given up before it gets out of hand. Both parts, however, are too fearfully aroused to care either way.

2B sucks her teeth and he reflexively flips around to comply, though not quickly enough to avoid her torso on his back and her hands at his legs and calves forcing him into position. Her arms wrap around his hips and lift up, causing his back to arch and limbs to lock in place like he’s some kind of obedient quadruped. Or a pet from the Old World.

“Like this,” she enunciates, fingers nestled on his hindquarters. “And no talking.”

“At all!?”

She pinches his hips and he yelps as his butt falls into her lap from pain that also sends a brief shockwave to his groin. For a split second he’s mentally transported to the week-prior’s “maintenance” by 801S, to the faulty boundary separating pain from pleasure, and the flashbacks leave his mind so rapidly he has to shake his head just to return to the present.

He’ll deliberate with her on all that later.

“2B, why…?”

“I’m reprimanding you for not listening. Is that not clear?”

Kneeling in her lap, with his back pressed against her chest close enough to count the uneven skips of her pulse, he comes to the striking conclusion that she is just as inexperienced as he, and it triggers something within him that lifts all foggy unease from his unit.

“It’s something, that’s for sure,” he answers, failing to hide his smirk at how all the pieces seem to fit together, but the clearing of her throat indicates she’s less convinced. “I mean, it wasn’t horrible, maybe just a little bit strange, but I get it now. Where did you learn something like that, anyway?”

Momentary pause. Another skipped beat.

“From...6O.”

Well, maybe she’s not quite _as_ inexperienced.

“Ah, of course.”

“Excuse me?”

“All fours and no talking, got it,” he jabbers and resumes his four-legged position.

“Good, I know you’ll enjoy this,” she reassures, hands snaking up his coat until his skin is exposed to the warm air of her breathing.

He has to physically clench his jaw to keep from blurting out when her mouth makes contact with his lower back. Regrettably, the buckle of his knees is a reaction he can’t prevent.

“It would be best if you didn’t move,” she advises. Despite her usual 2B-ness she vocalizes it in the most alluring way possible, and as such his body continues to respond accordingly.

Not wanting to disappoint or cause more trouble for himself, even if the latter is worth investigating, he remains stoic against her touch, defiant against her tantalizing kisses. Or at least he tries his damndest. Every fantasy he’s ever dreamt up in solitude pales in comparison to the real thing, the real 2B currently removing her gloves and tugging down his shorts at an agonizingly steady pace. Every smooth inch of her knuckles glides along his skin, first over his hips and then his rear, so tormentingly slow that it makes him squirm in place just to find relief.

As her hands and mouth maneuver carefully around his most sensitive areas, areas he has never known to be sensitive, he can’t help but feel her ministrations are calculated, tapped into an unspoken wealth of knowledge he’s clearly missing out on. However curious, though, it’s no issue; he’ll just have to keep pace and do some one-upping of his own. For now that means curving his back just a bit more, sticking his haunches further out in her space, but she is undeterred. She continues to drag on his clothing with hardly any progress, and while he knows she’s deliberately teasing the notion of release, his lustful member falls for it entirely. It spasms from the confines of his shorts as her hands get closer and closer to it, her thumbs purposefully rounding his butt while her other fingers slide down his thighs. His only solace comes in the form of low grunts and subtle muscle clenches, which don’t appear to count against 2B’s commands of no talking and no moving.

“You’re doing so well, 9S,” she praises as she drags the garments lower, intentionally brushing over his shaft as it’s finally released. He practically chokes on her name in order to keep from breaking the rules.

In truth, they may end up breaking him first.

She maneuvers the garments down to his ankles, her mouth never once leaving his skin.

“Go on,” she allows in a murmur behind his thigh and he swiftly kicks the fabric out of sight.

She leaves a burning trail of kisses along the dip in his back and he hungrily leans in, his breath hitching the closer her tongue gets to one of the most exposed yet hidden parts of his body. Her nails dig into his skin on a crawl and he winces once, moans twice, and it doesn’t help when her mouth reaches the malleable pair of balls hanging by her hands. All he can do is bend to her control, exhaling in audible pants just to not completely fall apart.

But there’s nothing to stop him from crying out when she wraps her hand around his cock and rolls her thumb over the head full of beady precum.

“Oh?” she coos, careening around into his peripherals. “Already?”

He huffs, fighting tooth and nail from gyrating in her palm. “No, not, ‘already,’ it’s— _angh_ —”

She squeezes the tip and pumps down, silencing him at once. “I know these things, and you know that talking is prohibited.”

It feels so good to be treated so bad.

Her hands resume work on his sensitive region, one maintaining a fixed pace on his length and the other alternating techniques on his balls. The familiar up-and-down motion intertwines with the unfamiliar massage to form a new, somewhat strange sensation, especially when paired with her tongue exploring the area, but it’s nothing he doesn’t readily adjust to.

“You enjoy that, don’t you?” she taunts after a particularly vocal reaction.

He nods furiously and growls his approval, still obediently abiding by her command. She kisses him from behind, her hands never faltering.

“Good boy.”

He is a pet after all.

“How is this, then?”

She continues her ministrations, her mouth lightly biting down on his round cheek in the process. It travels down to his thigh in between teasingly minute nibbles until it reaches the underside of his balls, where she licks a generous stripe up along a patch of sensitive skin and flicks the tip of her tongue into his hole.

His legs almost give out immediately, coupled with a jumble of sounds he’s not sure would have turned into coherent words even without her arbitrary rule.

He struggles to fend off the insatiable urge to hump into her hand, to time his rocking with her licks against his overwhelmed parts. Her methods are so much more grand, so much more meticulous in their treatment of his body, a thing he undoubtedly knows better than any member of YoRHa, that he’s mindlessly unraveling at the seams quicker than any solo session in his private quarters.

And she’s only just begun.

Once he adjusts to the sensory overload and finds a rhythm to her actions, he lowers his upper body to the pillows in order to make the most of the pleasure. He balances his weight on his elbows and buries the side of his face into cool fabric to muffle his groans, paying no mind to the ache in his back just to keep his ass in the air as much as possible. 2B also appears to pay no mind to all the jostling he causes from repositioning himself as she continues on, her controlled breaths quickly turning into ragged pants between licks.

Nothing consumes his thoughts but her and her actions. It’s all he can focus on. He can hardly make sense of the time that passes between each stroke, squeeze, and lap, so much so that he doesn’t notice the first syllable of her name slip through his lips until 2B is there to cut him off just in time. He lifts out of his stupor to glance back at her, waiting.

“On your back,” she instructs with a watchful eye, hands still busy on his body.

She doesn’t stop, not even when he shakes the bed and nearly tears apart her limbs with a very uncoordinated roll. From here, with his back rested comfortably against stacked pillows and eyes set entirely on 2B, he can see everything: the way his body shamelessly reacts to her every touch; the way her hair falls conveniently over part of her expression; even the way her face seems to line up against his thigh so perfectly. A vision he couldn’t dream up even if he tried. 

She kisses down the squish of his inner thigh and whispers sweet praises before enveloping his length with her mouth.

He yelps with a reflexive jerk of his hips, which only thrusts his cock further into her mouth. His hands fly to his face in attempts to hide his embarrassing display of pleasure and prevent any possible expletives from filling the air. She pulls away with a loud pop, a single line of artificial saliva dripping onto his groin.

“Is it bad?” There’s just enough concern in her tone for him to come out of his lustful haze and address her, assumedly given permission to speak.

“No, not bad, aha…ah.” He can hardly form complete sentences.

She dismisses his lackluster answer with a hum and returns to the moist space between his legs. With bated breath and shut eyes he waits for her to close around him, not letting go until she creates a home for him on her tongue. He chokes on an exhale as all sides of his erection make contact with the wet interior of her mouth, and he swears the tip of it hits her throat, but rather than losing control of his hips this time he levels himself with steady breaths. For every light downward motion she pulls up with polar force, sucking tightly around his head and rotating her tongue around his girth until her lips collide with his base. Warmer than any bath of his private sessions and more fantastical than any scene he’s ever conjured up, her touch, her texture, her everything, electrify him in ways he’s just barely begun to comprehend. However difficult, given the addition of her hands working their way across his balls, he manages to lose himself in the rhythmic bob of her head and the deliberate swirls of her tongue. 

That is, until he notices the cautionary surging heat in his lower abdomen.

“Wait, wait, not yet,” he begs with a cracked voice and hands blindly pawing at her hair. “I don’t want it to end yet.”

She effortlessly slides off him with a hard swallow of precum and spit and it tempts him so strongly he almost instantly goes back on his word.

“What is it?” she asks putting a complete pause on her motions. The look on her face presses for an explanation he’s too worked up to hesitate on.

He sits up with her and prepares to explain as quickly as possible. “I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you what I was doing that day you found me in the tub.”

She dips her head once, giving him the signal to continue.

“Every time I’ve...finished, I could hardly enjoy it. That, and I’m kind of useless afterwards. Also technically the first time I didn’t even finish.”

“9S.”

He shakes his head to refocus. “Anyway, I want to enjoy this properly. With you. I don’t know if we’ll ever get a chance like this again.”

She stares at him, then at the shiny mess of saliva below, and regroups back to him with confident eyes.

“It doesn’t need to be one or the other. It can be both.”

“Eh?”

“What you described as ‘finishing,’ but without having to end everything.”

She reaches over the bed, over his body, and into the YoRHa box beside them.

“2B?”

“That’s what these are for, aren’t they?”

Between her fingers on one hand are six tiny electronic chips. A piece of the “gift” 9S has almost forgotten about. He doesn’t respond, not out of ignorance but out of sheer stupefaction. She seems to take this as the former, however.

“Support chips. There’s one for movement, endurance, and, as 801S has designated, ‘potency.’”

9S audibly vents his distaste but she ignores it.

“This should be more than enough. Although, you seem to be doing alright on your own.”

She brushes his erection with her other hand and he gives in to the hypersensitivity without pause, giggling and squirming as she noncommittally plays with him. He studies the plug-ins and mentally outlining the pros and cons, ending on the quick conclusion that the pros undisputedly win out.

“Let’s give it a try,” he declares.

She dips her head and hands over his portion of the enhancements. Having done so countless times before, he expertly swaps out a few smaller chips for 801S’...more experimental ones. In a manner of moments they install, and the both of them are right back to where they left off, with 9S propping his back against the bed and 2B sliding down to his legs.

It takes no time at all for the heat to once more travel through his body, surging from his groin to his head and back down again. He’s no stranger to the building climax, but how he’ll get there is still unknown, however amazing it feels to be enveloped in this way. Having completely abandoned the former rules set in place, he vocalizes his arousal with each passing fervor of her mouth, and he loses himself to the synchronized movement of his own hip thrusts with her head bobs. He tries to focus on the delightful clamor of sounds emanating from between his legs but his panting overpowers it.

 _She_ overpowers _him_.

Before he can track it her mouth is working faster, his back is arching harder, and every nerve and muscle in his unit are set aflame with rising tension. His legs stiffen beside her, down to his toes, and he desperately grips the sheets just to anchor himself.

A harmonic shiver of the mattress tugs him away from his own pleasure and lures him directly to 2B working on herself much the same, using a thick bunched up section of the sheets to rub herself against, and the sight alone sends him hurtling into climax.

“Tw—ah!”

He has hardly any time to warn her apart from strangled moans and feeble attempts to call out her name, and she likewise has no time to prepare. The rush of orgasm overhauls his senses as his mind becomes nothing more than electronic grain, but unlike his solo endeavours there’s nowhere for him to properly release. The colorless, tepid liquid pools into her mouth and subsequently spills over the ridges of his cock, engulfing him in a seemingly unending warmth. Several weak spurts and a shortened recovery period later, he relaxes into the mattress and glances down.

“Oops.”

2B kneels before him, mouth and chin stained with a creamy white, and evaluates the mass of cum on her sleeve. Her eyes dart away and he follows them, only to find a similar situation on the tail end of his coat.

“I’m, uh?” He apologizes, or at least thinks he apologizes. It’s all a feel-good blur. 2B simply swipes her face and licks off the remaining liquid.

“This silicone can easily be removed,” she responds plainly while tampering with a few fixtures on her dress before rolling it up and removing it from her body in one fell swoop. Only her undersuit remains.

9S whimpers and reaches out his arms with an audible huff. “Not fair.”

Letting the garment droop to the floor, 2B stretches her upper body and in turn the one-piece. Tight like a second skin, it accentuates the protrusions on her chest, the tight curves forming a “v” to her legs...

The round folds between her thighs he wants nothing more than to dive into.

With a heavy grumble he rapidly sits up in bed with dramatism, impatiently discarding his coat as if to one-up her. “I wanted to do that, you know.”

She swings around the bed to stand tall at his center, never once removing her sights on him. “I’m not stopping you.”

He pivots his upper body to meet her, his hands more than eager to accept her invitation. With both feet dangling to the floor to flank either side of her, he pulls her in close and snakes his arms up her exposed back, promptly removing both of his gloves to properly touch her. He takes his time there, fingertips rubbing uneven circles in various spots along her smooth skin. Lightly scratching a few nails upwards to her shoulder blades he rests his head against her rigid abdomen and absorbs himself in her thrumming pulse. It beats with a heightened rate, though without the nervous, atypical rises and falls of before. It’s much more balanced now, more in control, and the same can be said of their push-and-pull game.

After a careful moment of nothing more than hushed breaths and explorative hands, she rests her arms atop his shoulders and whispers his name with enough urgency that it breaks him out of his calm lull. In truth he’s somewhat unsure of where to place his hands next, whether to remove her leotard or continue exploring, so he does both, spurred on by the plug-ins already taking effect. And 2B being irresistable, of course.

Hooking his thumbs under the top straps of her undergarment, he meanders the rest of his fingers around unseen fasteners until the fabric loosens around her shoulders, begging him to yank it down. Instead, he takes his time as she did to him, slowly peeling the layer down over her collarbone and slowly placing the delicate patterning between his fingers so as not to ruin it. With a steep inhale against her stomach he drapes the clothing off her tensed arms, her heaving chest, her delicate waist, until he has to pull back his face from her body just to remove the whole thing. He exhales upon witnessing her milky white skin, hardly a shade darker than her one-piece, and immediately kisses along the bottom of her ribs. As his hands reach lower he drags the garment over her rear and holds on firmly, pulling her onto the bed to be at a closer level with him. She takes in a sharp breath, forced to kneel on the mattress just like he planned lest she crash into him. He quickly takes advantage of her shock by squeezing the soft mounds joining her thighs, continuing to kiss higher and higher. He reaches the underside of her chest and sucks on it before wrapping a hand around and massaging the other side, fingers close enough to tease but not close enough to give her what she undoubtedly wants—if the half-lidded, unfocused look on her face is any indication.

The thing between his legs reacts without hesitation.

“Why so quiet?” he taunts, lifting off his butt just to get a better hold on her chest, his mouth and hands working feverishly to pull those moans out of her he knows she’s capable of.

Still, she refuses to directly engage, instead choosing to occupy herself with the wall behind him. So he speeds things up by placing her nipple between his teeth and licking around it, too overcome with mind numbing affection to fully process the reality that he has 2B almost fully naked in his grasp.

She groans something low and desirable, clearly resisting a broader range of emotions despite everything thus far, but he pays it no mind. Continuing with his tongue and teeth, he removes his other hand from her breast and travels down to join his other hand again, this time to swiftly pull down on her leotard until it’s well past her hips. She shimmies her hips and legs just as quickly in order to shake the clothing out of the way and he pops off of her breast to take her in full.

There, by his own display of unabashed arousal, he witnesses the first sight of her lust that he’s so longed to see. Deep pink folds of silicone “flesh”, not dissimilar in color to the center of her breasts, splay out engorged and shimmering with a faint wetness. Holding onto her tight waist, more so as a means to stay anchored than anything, he keeps her a slight distance apart just to marvel at her beauty. What a privilege it is to have an android such as 2B, with her unit built so strongly yet so delicately that no one else can match, all to himself. For however long they have, he is hers, and she is his.

No one else’s.

“2B,” he whimpers, maintaining direct eye contact with her. Stupefied, awestruck, aroused.

Their mouths collide together, bodies pressed close enough to sync pulses. They desperately feel each other up, with 2B pushing into him so roughly he has to move backwards on the bed just to accommodate space. They sit on their knees practically in each other’s laps, his erection throbbing against her stomach and alarmingly close to her exposed mound. He wants it, craves it with an illogical boldness that takes over where it likely would have never before, and he reaches down to spread her rosy lips apart with his fingers. His tips are at once coated in a rolling stickiness and it does nothing to quell his hunger.

2B moans into his mouth and careens back, but before he can feel around for an opening, she lifts off her shins to add height over him and pulls his arm away. “Not yet.”

She pushes off the bed to crouch at the box, and all 9S can do is sit back and gawk at her, languidly touching his length while she busies herself. After a bit of rummaging on her part and stroking on his, she hops back onto the bed with a device in one hand and an apparatus with lube in the other. His foot grazes her inner thigh, and even with socks on—stockings, in her case—it still burns his skin with yearning.

“Do you know what this is?” she asks plainly.

9S allows his hand to stop while he focuses on searching his memory bank for an answer.

“I...do not.” But he’s sure he did at one point.

“I’ll show you.”

She places all items in front of her save for a thin technological harness which, now that she has it out on display in front of her, bears a strong resemblance to human undergarments. Without leaving the bed she slips it on one leg at a time, though not before a few awkward fumbles. Once flush against the lower half of her torso, it briefly lights up in flashing rows before adjusting its outer shell to her skin tone so seamlessly he can hardly tell it’s there. Curious of the end result, he watches intently, noting the way her muscles tense and relax with each movement.

“Did you also learn this from 6O?” he asks genuinely, though his tone accidentally dips into the opposite.

She ceases all activity and leers. If his nerves weren’t currently set aflame by his arousal it’d chill him to his core.

“Okay, I get it, no more side comments.”

“Thank you,” she replies reaching for the pile in front of her.

Her hand lands squarely on the phallic apparatus shaped way too similarly yet dissimilarly to his own, and he’s beginning to have some questions he knows won’t be answered until it’s too late. The slightly off-color “toy” is something he’s seen before, but he’s left guessing as to how it coincides with the device on her lower half. However, he’s more interested in 2B’s showing rather than telling, so he keeps his mouth shut and observes.

She hovers the apparatus between her legs and waits, calculating a few settings on the harness with her free hand. She carefully lines the base of the toy with a faint circle on the harness, now more like her actual body, and turns it. She fingers a few more digital buttons on the device and locks the phallus in place once low enough to sit freely on her unit. A pair of lights flash on both objects, appearing to synchronize them with familiar confirmation tones before disappearing and transmitting a signal that they’re ready for use. The material, or at the very least, the surface color, reconfigures to a unified hue of her model’s top layer. The final step effectively renders the two as one, meshing with her unit and forming an extension of it convincing enough to mistake for the original if it weren’t for the lack of testes.

“Hm.”

As distracting as the non-existence may be, it doesn’t compare to the realization that the device has created not only a visual extension of her body but a functional one, the only difference between hers and his being the shape. And size.

His cock twitches against his open hand. _Oh_ , the size.

“I didn’t even know YoRHa had something like that,” he squeaks, legs shuffling inward.

“‘Things can change,’ remember?”

He swallows and nods, eyes darting between her girth and the bottle of lube by her knee. The full comprehension of the situation washes over him like a self-destructive blast. “Yeah, yeah of course.”

9S is up to most challenges.

_But that?_

“Keep what you were doing, and relax,” 2B directs crawling towards him, dick and lube in tow.

He hesitantly palms himself, faintly squeezing the base, but he won’t be dissuaded. “Why don’t you help me?”

She leans over him, mouth ghosting by his ear as she whispers, “Gladly.”

Wrapping a free hand around his, 2B laces their fingers and gently pumps with him. He turns to her for a shared kiss but she gives, making it impossible for their mouths to reach. She’s doing it on purpose, he knows, and yet it works him up even more, giving him no other option than to latch onto her neck with tongue and teeth. She quickly sucks in a sharp bit of air and tightens her grip on his dick, becoming less and less gentler as their breaths become harsher. He grunts and shimmies his hand in hers, freeing it away and to her chest to allow her to take over. With his mouth still fervently on her skin he cups her with both hands, rolling his thumbs over her nipples and pinching them every time she squeezes his tip.

“Don’t be startled,” she whispers but it’s too late, the plastic _clack_ of the bottle opening and subsequent citrus odor directs his attention from his deliberations and to their lower halves.

She removes her hand from his erection to catch the lube being poured by her other hand and he immediately craves it. Not even the return of his own stroking can fulfill the sensation, but it’ll have to make do.

“Tell me if anything is wrong,” she instructs, spreading his thighs farther apart and massaging his butt with her clean hand while the other approaches the area under his balls.

“Of co— _ooh_.”

It’s warm. And cold. And warm again.

With a single fingertip and a generous amount of lube she prods his entrance, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles until the outer edges are completely wet. His muscles spasm briefly upon contact, but the intensity is dulled from the numbing effect of the liquid. She continues with varying speeds and rotations, her eyes intent on him and he’s never felt more like a test subject.

“How is this?” she chimes in.

“Fine,” he sighs.

“And—” She casts her eyes down, pushing her single finger past his initial walls. “—this?”

His hand breaks rhythm as she gets a nail’s length inside him, his hips gyrating to adjust to the feeling. “W...eird.”

“Keep stroking.”

He groans and resumes pace, his nerves at odds with themselves from the two somewhat conflicting sensations. Not quite pain, but not quite pleasure, though the jerking motions from his own hand help to offset the strangeness. She lightly circles around his inner walls, easing in and out without leaving them entirely. Then, just as he calibrates with her actions, another fingertip makes its way to his opening.

“Now?” she examines before inserting the other finger.

“ _Uhhua_.” There are no words he can find to concisely describe to her.

She accepts the non-answer and recedes her fingers, rotating closer to the opening while her other hand makes sure the rest of his lower half is well comforted. Her wet fingers pull and push enough to the knuckle and expand, forcing his walls open. He gasps and involuntarily humps into the electrifying numbness, consequently shoving her fingers deeper inside him.

“Good,” she croons. Her tone is as pleased as ever.

Her motions are no longer slow, instead matching the rhythm of his vertical strokes with as much energy that another mess spills onto the sheets. She applies more lube directly onto his hole and, without stopping, inserts two more fingers with as much width as possible. His rolling moans instantly grow to howls as the tips of her fingers prod an area so sensitive he has to smother his face just to keep from alerting the whole camp.

“Now.”

It’s not a question but rather a confirmation of understanding that he’s ready, and he mentally curses himself for being so easy to read. All he can manage is a muffled hiccup of her name as she leans over him and pushes him down into the mattress.

“Lay on your side,” she commands holding up one of his bent legs, her soaked hand still working him despite his own having long-since given up.

He attempts to level his breathing as he shifts to his side, one leg flat while the other is held captive. The new position alters his muscles in a way that also alters the sensation of 2B inside him and he shudders, pulsating cool-warmth coursing through his body.

“You’re doing so well,” she praises as her fingers leave his hole and the relief nearly gives him vertigo.

Her wet hand flocks to her device, her own length standing taller than his, and she sighs into the touch. With another generous squeeze she empties part of the bottle onto it and strokes until the entire thing is glistening, no differently from his own techniques. Readying herself on her thighs, she locks into place by his groin and lifts his bent leg in the air to her shoulder. She holds onto his sock-adorned calf with both hands and kisses the side of it, her fingernails dragging it off his leg then back down in the process. The tip of her augmented erection makes contact with his hole and they both twitch.

“These legs are another staple of your model,” she sings, squishing into his thigh and inching closer to his entrance.

He blinks into focus. “They are?”

She kneads along his leg and he nearly throws his head back with each palming.

“Mhm, they’re perfect,” she breathes into his skin and licks, teeth scraping a small section behind his knee before leaving a faint mark. “Even in their imperfections.”

He’s rendered speechless with unbridled lust. Wonder.

“Ready?” she asks, her hands now positioned at his hip and her erection.

“Please,” he begs without intending to. Pushes her tip into himself without intending to.

They both gasp upon contact and it confirms it: she can feel everything through the device.

In an instant she pushes past his outer walls, sliding in almost effortlessly. It’s surprisingly painless.

“Were you practicing without me, 9S?”

She slips the extension of her body farther in, nearly to her base, and he chokes on a pant.

“ _Ngh_ no.” He doesn’t mean to fib. His mind is simply too jostled to think clearly.

Despite the ease, he still has to adjust to her sheer mass. The length, the girth, the way it expands inside him—even if subtle, he can feel all of it. The numbing yet heightening counter effects of the lube and plug-ins are hard at work to ensure everything is as sensitive as possible.

But not so much that he can’t handle it, of course.

After lowering his hips and angling his legs with just enough curve to allow as much room for her as possible, he reaches down to their lower extremities and rubs his fingers around in the mess of fluids. With a single swipe over her member he returns to his own heat and pumps in hopes of building the action. She takes note, affectionately caressing his balls and angular hips.

“I’m going to start moving now,” she soothingly reassures.

He wraps his resting leg around her and drops his haunches, closing around her completely. Filled, completely, by 2B.

“Don’t hold back.”

Something of a pained expression washes over her face from his speech, or perhaps it’s pure arousal. He has never been an expert in reading emotion. Either way, she stays true to her word, holding onto him and pulling out only to thrust back in. The impact startles him at first, hits him in a thought-erasing spot with pinpoint accuracy, but once she maintains slow thrusts inside him to coincide with his slow strokes, he quickly harmonizes with the sensations. His extended leg wobbles on her shoulder as she collides with him, the creaking of the bed and the wet slapping of their extremities growing in volume with every thrust. The room bounces in his vision as she stuffs him and he vocalizes every wonderful prodding of her hardened member.

She reacts to it as well, with her restrained moans and furrowed brows in what appears to be a newfound focus. A newfound pleasure. Her hands grip tighter on him and for a moment her pace hiccups out of sync, but on a particularly drawn out sigh she picks up the pace, her half-lidded eyes locked onto him. He can only bear to look at her swaying figure through the corners of his eyes.

“Good, so good,” she chants, her speed building with each uneven breath. “You feel so good, 9S.”

She slams into that same sweet spot from before and he hollers shameful expletives just to brace himself for the repetition. Every curve and non-uniform texture of her hardness inside him renders his walls more and more susceptible to her pounding until he has no choice but to remove his hand from his erection and hold on to his surroundings. His fingers scratch at the sheets searching for an anchor, fumbling their way to her feet, her legs, anything he can get his hands on just to keep from drifting away into the endless cosmos above. She penetrates him over and over so frenzied that the wet clamor of their skin colliding together almost overpowers their ragged panting. His muscles clench around her length and he humps into her with the same desperate tempo, pulling a shrill moan from her that sets his entire existence aflame.

“It’s tight,” she huffs, calling out his name like a song. He can hardly vocalize anything more than grunts and groans, a single line of drool exiting the edge of his mouth in his attempts to just say her name. With a heavy need his free hand paws her, first blindly at her stomach then determedly on her chest, but she’s unaffected. For now.

“I’m, sorry,” he coughs, throat dry from the rapid intake of air. She simply clings to his leg and laughs, breathlessly. Beautifully.

“Don’t apologize. I like it.”

She turns her head to his bare calf and presses her lips to it, her hands massaging around his slight muscle while her lower back rocks in undulating waves. His leg spasms when she rakes down the outer curve of his shin but she steadily holds him in position, her kisses tailing her fingers around the back of his leg. She shifts her lower half, angling harder into him and he quivers without anywhere to go in her grasp. Her weight pushes down on him until his leg is nearing his chest and the lift of his ass opens him wider, allowing her to enter deep enough that her cock disappears completely inside him.

“A-ah!” he gasps, his head tilting back against the pillows and torso arching so much it hurts. Hurts so, so good. All the while she tickles and tantalizes him at his leg with her hands and mouth.

“How sensitive you are,” she teases against his loud, incoherent moans.

“ _Nh_ , ah, n-no.”

“So small and sensitive.”

He aggressively rolls his head against fabric before craning it to glare at her, the chip enhancements fueling him with a profound sense of hunger.

“Just fuck me already.”

In his head it’s intimidating, meant to possibly revoke some of the power she has over him.

In reality it’s desperate, especially with the way his voice cracks at her biting his leg and ramming into him.

He hides in his arms now flocked to his face in overwhelming embarrassment, his toes curling and muscles tensing. She pops off his leg with a fine trail of spit and grits her teeth, hands clawing into the back of his thigh and ass. Every moment that passes is a further descent into flourishing indulgence. When he’s focused, he explores her body with his hands, caressing and cupping supple curves and protrusions just to see how she’ll react. And when he’s not-so-focused, his hands meander somewhere along his own body to elevate the senses. Either way, it feels good. She feels good. Better than good, and it’s all her fault, rightfully so. His mind reverts to electric fuzz and erratic imagery of 2B past, present, and imaginary. She devours his senses. Everything 2B.

 _2B, 2B, 2B, 2B_.

“I’m not being, _ahn_ , corrupted by a logic virus, am I?” he trills, tears welling at the corners of his eyes from the overloading pleasure. She pushes harder in response.

He reflexively grabs onto her and shuts his eyes in hopes of putting out the fire engulfing his nerves. She relentlessly rams into his sweet spot, triggering his pain and pleasure receptors like a flipped switch. Warm air spreads across his sternum and he snaps his head up to see her puffing against him, her dark eyes full of something sinister, lost somewhere beyond his head. Drops of saliva collect in his clavicle from her failed attempts to catch them and he instinctually reaches a hand to her cheek at the sight. Swipes a bit of drool and licks it for himself. Their hazy eyed gazes meet, and even as a shifting blur she still captivates him. He opens his mouth to speak, compelled to bridge the space between them, but she closes it first.

“I, want...” Her desire trails away with the remaining line of spit lapped up on his skin. She never stops humping.

“Ah?”

“ _Mmmh_ , knees, back on your knees,” she breathlessly commands, slapping his ass. “Don’t let me slip out.”

“I couldn’t even if I tried,” he jests with a wince, but in truth she has him locked so tightly around her length that it would cause too much trouble to remove himself.

Holding close proximity, he scrambles to his knees and flips over onto his palms, making sure she moves with him. Or maybe it’s the other way around. They are in sync, quite literally attached at the hip, after all. The repositioning rubs her cock along unusual, though not entirely unpleasant, ridges of his inner walls and his knees almost give out. It’s not until he pushes his lower half out as far as possible that he finds the same comfortable harmony that led them there in the first place.

“That’s it,” she whispers behind him with one palm between his shoulder blades and the other nested on his dick. She squeezes his tip and swipes it for precum lubrication, circling her wrist on a single downward pump.

He begs her name on a whisper and she answers his plea by starting up again, stroking him with her moist hand and penetrating him with steadfast pace as if they never paused. The new position stimulates him in electrifying ways unattainable on his side and she hastens her rhythm, inadvertently pushing down on his torso. He leans partly down into the mattress to lift the pressure off his back, his hands flexing into the sheets with every mind numbing impact of her body to his.

“I feel like I’m going to break,” he cries.

He doesn’t truly feel any incoming destruction, but the looming apprehension of the unknown is always there. Vocalizing the sensations simply spurs him on, turning loose anxiety into concrete ecstacy and sending him to an alternate hackspace—2B as well, it seems, for she moans as soon as he speaks.

“No, you won’t, too perfect.”

He hums quizzically and she replies with wordless grunts, hunching over him with her extended arm retreating to his hips. The pressure of her body forces him to rock into her and curve his back until his face is almost hidden by bedding. Drool smudges against his cheek with plush material as she clings to him and pounds more relentlessly than before.

Even with the enhancements and rush of arousal he’s not sure how much longer he can endure her. Telltale heat churns in the pit of his core and he braces himself for the inevitable, feebly attempting to prolong the session as much as he can. He scans his data banks for unengaging content, but it fails as soon as her chest heaves onto his shoulders and her hot breaths wash over his neck. The grip on his cock weakens with every stroke until it disappears entirely, instead fleeing to his hip for more stability. To fill the lack of warmth and maximize pleasure he plays with himself, audible stimulation muffled by pillows. She presses to his back and wraps her arms around his waist, leaving no room between them, and slightly lifts him off his knees. Startled gasps soon dissolve into contented hums as she hits his most sensitive nerves over and over, her tempo quickly becoming erratic in the process. From here, despite her unusual pattern, the pressure on his lower half entices him to jerk himself harder to match her.

If the constant jittery, delicious praises in his ear are any indication, she’ll have her fill soon, too.

The bed rattles against dusty floors as his head nearly bumps against the wall and it takes him too long to register the sound, too wrapped up in 2B’s wanton voice.

“9S, I think, ah.” She doesn’t finish, and she doesn’t need to either.

“Me, too.” He understands.

She yanks him backwards into her spread lap, the intense strain of her taut muscles rubbing against the underside of his thighs and butt. Their wet skin slaps against one another loud enough to reverberate the room, faster, faster. She holds him close, closer than they’ve ever been and he can feel her pulse beating against his spine more rapidly than his own.

“Ni _nh_ -9S, I think I’m going to—”

“Cum inside me please, _please_.”

It’s enough to get them both teetering over the edge.

She hollers with a strangled groan unlike anything he’s ever heard, hungry and sated all the same. Her hips spastically pound into him, fluids filling the minute gaps inside him still untouched by her sputtering length. Spurt after spurt hits his walls until he can no longer bear it and he rushes through his strokes, focusing fully on 2B and the climax they share together. In an instant his entire body is tuned in to the ecstacy and his hand is coated in his own ruin, viscous threads of white seeping through his fingers and onto the bed. He rolls his head back in overwhelming release as she smashes her face into his neck and shoulders, light secretions leaking from her top layer and onto him. Her hair, now moist and scratchy, is a soothing tickle against the hot surface of his unit.

 _Oh_ , how he wishes to spend the rest of time in her embrace.

“2B, _mmh_.”

She murmurs nonsense in return.

An unrelenting beat thrums in his ears and swarms his body down to each individual digit. For every sweet second that passes the overriding effects of climax dwindle, with reality settling in by just how sore his thighs are from mere tensing and flexing. His ass, meanwhile, tingles too much to gauge its status. He’s a little concerned by the situation inside of him, but with how comfortably tight 2B holds him and how great a sense of security envelopes him, he doesn't mind holding off on resolution. Though when she starts to careen their bodies sideways toward the mattress, he has no say in the matter.

The impact jostles his haunches and forces her out of him at once. The afterglow, as he knows it to be called, is short lived once her length expands his clenched hole and a rush of fluids spills out of him. He yelps, body quivering so ferociously in her grasp like he’s climaxing again. They both grumble while her device, still erect and functional, pokes the dip in his lower back and spreads more of her cum.

They lay there for any number of unspoken moments while his bare unit cools and his hand dries to the exposed air. It’s not until the sheer pungence of their sex fills the room that he decides to move on.

“We’ll have to,” he inhales, “clean ourselves up. And the bed?”

She yawns into a kiss against his nape. “ _Mmh_ , yes.”

Neither of them move.

Instead, they bask in each other’s warmth and scent and touch. Rest awkwardly against each other while the plug-ins utterly decimate their recovery period. It’d be so easy to conclude as is and yield to her completely. But then it would all be over.

He can’t have that.

“Damnit, aha.”

“What is it?” she questions, unaware to the revitalizing heat between his thighs.

“Clean-up,” he offers without further explanation, carefully wobbling off the bed to his tossed bag for tissues. Maybe he can distract himself from the wanton images urging him to make reality.

Which becomes increasingly difficult once he returns to the bed and, with impeccable timing against a striking full view of 2B sprawled legs wide and device-less, an entire mess of fluids releases to dribble down his inner thigh.

The suddenness causes his limbs to falter, fine motor function failing momentarily as he attempts to catch the clot of white with a tissue.

“Are you alright?” 2B presses from the edge of the bed, her grip on his forearms supporting his cockeyed frame. She has incredible reflexes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright, it just surprised me,” he breathes, sopping up the fluid in as few swipes as possible.

“Ah.”

“What?” He glances up to find her eyes firmly sizing up his erection. “Oh.”

Hobbling to his feet he haphazardly tosses the bowled up paper and crawls into her lap. She finally removes her eyes from his member and plants them on the remaining tissues.

“Is this for me?” she asks nodding to the wad.

“Yes. You took care of me, now let me take care of you.”

He gently pushes into her with his upper body but she doesn’t budge until instructed to do so. Once he has her on her back, he carefully pats dry some wet areas on her skin; starting at her hands, traveling across her stomach to her groin, cascading down her legs. Her folds are still ripe with warm hues and he deliberately avoids direct contact with the area lest she dry too much. Instead he sinks down with her, gets in close between her crevice and hums against heated skin. The remaining tissues fall by the wayside.

“2B, _ohnmh_ ,” he moans into the side of her leg with a wet kiss. “I don’t want to stop.”

She lightly jerks her hips. “As long as we eventually complete our mission, you won’t need to.”

He peers up to meet her, both of their half-lidded eyes full of lust locking onto each other.

“You’re always so attentive to protocol.” His hands meander along her plump thighs and even plumper chest. “What happened?”

Her lips part without any sound escaping.

“2B.”

“Later.”

In retaliation he softly nibbles her thigh. She rasps a faint groan. “Not what I was hoping for...but it’ll do.”

He trails a line of kisses up her leg to her abdomen as she shivers beneath him, her hands twitching by his sides until she at last holds on. His arousal nests itself between hers and they both groan low and heady, their limbs becoming intertwined as he reaches her mouth. It already feels like an eternity since they shared a kiss and yet they fall back into cadence so naturally it astounds him. Makes him feel at home.

“Can I,” 9S pants in between a particularly intense exchange, “can I try something?”

He pulls away from her, hovers mere centimeters above her with inquisitive eyes. Mentally records her already disheveled visage for safekeeping.

“What is it?”

“I want to try what you did to me. I want to know what it’s like.”

She tilts her head, expression unchanged. “To be inside yourself?”

Her suggestion is ludicrous. Absolutely laughable. And he definitely considers it for a half-second.

“No, _no_ . Inside _you_.”

“Ah. Of course. But if you did want to know the former, it’s understandable. You felt unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.”

Words fail him. In their place, uncoordinated kisses take over and lead the both of them flush to the mattress. Their units bump awkwardly before they find a comfortable position with his hands protectively nested in her hair and her legs extended with his. Her wetness comes into direct contact with his erection, warm and cool and so tantalizing that he has to force himself not to thrust in all at once. After mere seconds of a lip-locked tug of war he’s reduced to a moaning, humping mess under her clawing touch, and it takes even less time for the heat between them to surge into a blazing fire. A fire in desperate need of fanning.

“Please,” he whines in tandem with her, the tip of his length prodding her slick opening. “Can I?”

“Only because you’ve been so good,” she invites with a downward roll of her hips, clenching part of her muscles so that the small bud above her folds rubs against him. The gesture, however confusing, sets off a demanding craving inside him like a triggered switch.

“Trust me, this time I won’t be.”

Before she can voice her concern he grips her delicate white threads and bites into the side of her neck. Hard.

“Ah, ah!”

It’s the first time he’s heard her shout out her pleasure so startlingly, and he’s experienced it enough times to know that the hint of pain only accentuates the sensation more. He moves in a line along her delicate collar bone, sucking along bite marks to negate some of the pain lest she call the whole thing off. One hand remains bunched in her hair, tugging and massaging in rhythmic shifts, while the other drags down her chest to pinch a nipple. She groans into the side of his head, her hips gyrating into his erection, bud to bud, but he keeps them down with his hand previously occupied in her hair. He doesn’t plan to contain her—YoRHa knows he doesn’t come close to matching her strength—but if there’s a chance she’ll yield to his play, he’ll take it. As she gives in to the gesture, especially after he glides the same hand around to her moist folds and fingers them apart, he knows it’s safe to continue. More, and more.

He leans slightly back and takes his own member in his hand with a shiver, his fingertip gently playing with her opening. His eyes dance from her mound to her face as she grumbles.

“Is this what you want?” he tests impishly.

She wriggles her lower body to him, forcing his hand away and his length inside her. His body lurches forward, caught by her hands latching onto his torso and scratching along his spine.

“What was it you said before,” she breathes close to his ear, “‘just fuck me already’?”

With a quick swipe of her tongue across his earlobe she dips low, low enough to engulf half of his erection. He chokes out a strangled moan and closes the remaining distance, fitting his entire length inside her with ease.

“So wet,” he whines, his head bobbing against the crook of her neck. “2B, you’re so filthy.”

He maintains pace with his thrusts, their panting breaths and intermittent moans following suit. Soon enough the air is filled again with a harmonious orchestra of their pleasure, no care given to the outside world. The warm air of her cries tickle his ear and he clings to her, one arm wrapped under her while the other travels to her legs. He shifts his legs slightly, causing a hiccup in their rhythm for just a moment as he spreads her legs apart and instructs her.

“Open, and bend your knees,” he says before latching onto her skin with his mouth.

When she complies he alleviates part of his lower weight and holds onto her tight, intensifying his humps as her inner walls expand. He gasps with her at the new sensation, heat and cold burning his whole being. Her fleshy muscles contract around him, holding him inside her for just a moment as he attempts to pull out and push in, and his hips spasm struggling to keep pace. Puffs of hot air wash over him in hiccups and soft mewls and he realizes, without being able to see her, that she’s teasingly giggling at him. At the way, no matter how hard he tries to get the upper hand, she still holds the reins over him. And yet, despite the ephemeral flutter of frustration, he enjoys that aspect the most. All he can do, at least for now, is make the best of it and pretend that he’s in control, even if only for this one chance.

Which is proving to be a trying experience while his parts burn from the repetitive activity and his top layer secretes more of the same “sweat” just to keep his unit cool.

“2B _mhf_.” He muffles his speech as he rubs his head into her skin and feels around with his mouth for her lips.

“Mh?”

“I want to be able to look at you. At all the expressions you make.”

For him and him alone.

“Now you’re just as filthy,” she playfully taunts.

Removing himself from her with a sloppy break he lifts up, scooting backwards by the haunches. With graceless maneuvering he attempts to keep them joined by holding onto her hips and pulling her back with him to no avail. He slides out and the rush shoots straight to his legs, threatening to malfunction them, but he quickly regains control to stand at bedside and pull her close. As she settles in by the bed’s edge he takes hold of her calves and places her ankles on his shoulders, raising her butt a few centimeters off the bed.

“Here,” he offers holding one of the crumpled pillows after their regions misalign.

She arches her back to make room for the cushion under her butt and sighs, contented by the new height allowing him complete and easy acces—which he wastes no time in resuming.

He maintains eye contact with her even as he messily inserts himself, visually detailing every facial spasm and reaction her body outputs as he thrusts into her over and over. They hardly have to adjust themselves to accommodate the movement from how much lubrication is shared between them. Her warmth wraps around him so quickly it almost doesn’t register with him that he’s inside her again, no matter how immensely electrifying it feels. Every time he pulls out he leaves just enough of his length to tease her sensitive opening, then pushes back in so intensely her walls clench around him and her legs tremble. His as well; it’s a feat in itself that his limbs haven’t given out by now, but 801S’ plug-ins are surely to blame. Or thank, really.

“2B, 2B,” he calls out for no other reason than unexplained necessity, his body unwittingly pressing closer to hers and hips colliding harder. The head of his cock slams into soft walls and malleable ridges and she immediately grabs hold of his forearms.

“Ni—ah!?” She cuts off her vocalized pleasure after a round of harsh thrusts.

“Bad?” he addresses without stopping.

She firmly shakes her head. “No. Good. Keep going.”

He plants his feet on the ground and rams into the same spot, bracing for the sheer numbing impact of her contracting walls with his cock. Her eyes roll back with her head, breaths quickening by the second, until they shut completely. With each passing thrust she grows quieter and quieter against his loudening grunts, with only a small expletive slipping through her mouth as she tightens her grip on his extended arms. Her legs tense on his shoulders while a single hand rushes to her mouth to be nibbled on. His gut churns with a building heat from just the sheer lecherous sight of 2B. Completely unaware of how she looks right now, unraveled by his doing.

It goes right to his heads.

“Like that?” he coos with increased speed. She doesn’t respond with words, only nonsensical groans around her fingers.

After building a steady enough rhythm, and fighting the speedy approach of his release, he catches her rolling her head back up to look at him. 

“2B,” is all he can cough up.

“Is this it?” she moans, her face dusted a creamy rose. “The thing you’re always, going on about.”  

“Aah?”

“Feeli _ngh—_ feeling. Letting your actions be, ah—” She can barely answer amidst the constant rocking. “Doing things simply because they feel good.”

His gyrating slows to a halt.

“Of all the things that’ve happened, you still have to ask?” he confronts her, thoughts momentarily overridden by the utter absurdity of her questioning.

She growls and grinds into him of her own accord, muscles expanding and contracting with each slap of skin. “Don’t stop.”

Throwing all previous convictions aside, he continues his task with more ferocity than before.

“There’s your answer,” he groans, voice drowned out by the wet sounds of their bodies and 2B’s sporadic yelps.

Cautionary heat grows with his pace, his panting, and he has to focus his eyes to empty corner space just to sustain his ministrations. Their grips on each other strengthen after each tensing as if in neural sync. Even their breathing quickens to the same beat. He shifts slightly to his left in hopes of prolonging his efforts, inadvertently brushing against a particularly rigid surface inside her.

“That, there,” she breathlessly commands tapping his forearm with one hand and gripping the sheets with the other. The action forces him out of his daze and lands him squarely on her lewd visage.

Splayed out in cream-stained fabrics she rocks with him, her head turned away so delicately that even her disheveled hair cascades across her round cheeks beautifully. Her body reacts with every impact, all her sensitive areas ripe with warm hues and glistening with the proof of their affections.

It won’t be long before—

“2B, _mh_ , I think I...”

She opens her mouth to speak and peers at him welcomely. Lovingly.

“Nineₑs.”

He can’t stop the corners of his eyes from wetting.

Everything slows to a crawl and speeds up all the same. He paws his way towards her and feverishly joins their lips, tongues, teeth. He grounds himself in her mouth, in her everything as the final wave of pleasure crashes over him. He coasts through his climax as she becomes unbearably tight around him and he briefly retreats to his thoughts just to avoid becoming completely undone. Spurts of liquid dribble down his base as he gets dangerously close to pulling out, but she closes her legs around him, traps him there, and his mind flies out of static hackspace. His pace dwindles yet she continues humping, using her legs to push his lower half into her. She parts her lips against his and he can’t recall if he’s truly been kissing her this whole time.

“I’m g- _ggh_!”

Her exclamations of pleasure disintegrate into garbled moans as she pulsates around his sputtering cock, a second surge of warm liquid flowing over him. She continues humping until all liquid is expelled, though her hips don’t stop quivering. They both give up on kissing and instead resort to mangled grunts and feeble attempts of calling out the other’s name.

 

9S also gives up on tracking how long it takes him to come back to reality.

  
  


Stepping out of their fleeting high he gently threads a hand through her mussed up hair, failing to keep from all but collapsing on top of her. The touches send shockwaves to his groin for another short round of twitches, which send her body into another tiny spasm. He holds her in place, humming against her mouth in attempts to calm her. Which seems to work, as the air is soon filled with her soft laughter. He joins in it, too.

“Clean up again,” he jokes. She murmurs in agreement, but as they had done so before, they allow themselves a bit more time to recover.

  


Adapting from their last activity, he reaches with all his might for the nearby tissues and manages to yank another handful to his nether region. He slowly pulls out of her, hypersensitive to the shift in temperature and pressure, and successfully catches the spillage despite his body’s tremors. 2B’s legs fall over the side of the bed and he just barely catches the white thread rolling down her plump cheeks. She grunts in displeasure.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes with a gentle pat to her area, then to his own.

“It’s fine, just a bit strange,” she explains sitting up.

“Wait,” he halts holding a palm to her stomach.

He pushes on her trunk before holding onto her thighs, leaning into the space between her legs as she reclines.

“What are you doing?”

“Let me actually...” he trails off, head fuzzy with intrigue, and opens his mouth against her pink folds.

“ _Nh_!?”

Ignoring the quick squirms and grumbles of conflicting protest he tongues her opening and feels around to lap up as much liquid as he can in one mouthful. With a full gulp of the sweet fluid he pulls back, his eyes fluttering up to meet hers.

“Don’t act so surprised,” he criticizes with a smile. “That’s hardly the strangest thing to happen today.”

“That’s not it,” she retorts leaning up.

“Then what is it?”

She bends closer and swipes a thumb over his bottom lip only to pop it back in her mouth with a loud suck.

“It’d be a waste not to share,” she croons.

He stares at her, face refusing to stop smirking like an awestruck fool. “Yes. _Yes_.”

His follow up portion is much more generous.

After taking a single mouthful of their viscous mess he crawls back atop the bed beside her, and with an affirming nod from his superior he brings the collection to her mouth to share it. The exchange is both alike and unlike their usual kissing in that the intensity is still there but with extra care not to spill anything. Quiet hums pass in tandem with the new flavors and textures and he makes sure not to break from her mouth, either. He takes turns with her feeling around the inside of the other’s mouth with the liquid mixture, gradually swallowing tiny portions until all that remains is normal lubrication. And a bit of drool, but that’s swiftly cleaned up with a lick.

He gazes at her as their breathing slows, his line of sight darting from one facial point to the next. For any number of moments they remain there, languidly blinking and feeling each other, until 2B rolls onto her back to peer up at the ceiling. He follows her lead, shoulder to shoulder, and waits.

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

And waits.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


And waits.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Until his scanner designation rears its curious head.

“So, I have one question,” he pipes up.

“Mhm?”

He flips over on his side and props himself up by his elbow, his field of vision occupied entirely by her supine form.

“Why now? Why the sudden interest? Why the sudden _knowledge_? Why the huge difference between out there and in here?”

She doesn’t remove her gaze from the ceiling.

“That was four questions.”

He sighs, collapses to his side and inches nearer. She faces him and does the same.

“Out there is work, war. You can’t risk distraction,” she answers after some silence.

“And this wasn’t a distraction?”

“It was a generous opportunity to test new abilities and conduct vital research.”

“I don’t believe that’s even the main reason for it, and besides, that only answers one question.”

He’s careful not to outright accuse her of lying, and when all she does in response is stare at him with half-lidded eyes, he elaborates.

“You’ve been curious from the start, haven’t you? The moment you first learned what any of this was. The time and place just happened to line up perfectly for it.”

She quickly glances to the side before returning to him with a coy smile.

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps...” he parrots, nudging her to continue.

“You are right in that the circumstances conveniently lent themselves to this; I would hardly call this sudden; curiosity is not an isolated trait of your model; and, I believe I already answered the last one.”

He blinks. He can’t really argue with any of that.

“I guess I just would’ve never, I mean, um,” he stutters with a pause. The plug-ins must be wearing off.

He scoots closer, envelops himself in her warmth. Jarring square flecks of green cut into his vision against her skin then flash out of existence and he reflexively holds his breath.

His system is already entering low power mode.

“I know a lot of androids do this sort of thing,” he adds, “and while I’m not used to this, it’s making me realize that I really want to get used to this. And I mean all of this, not just _this_.” He waves his hand between them and to the state of the room.

A gap of silence tears apart the conversation. Too many painful seconds of background noise until 2B finally hums.

“It serves no purpose to our mission. Such a development would likely catch the attention of command and it would interfere with our work.”

“Ah.”

“But,” something of an interjection muffles in her throat as she sighs and rests her chin atop his head, “I won’t deny. It would be nice.”

His internal clock ticks away the long pauses of machine whirring and background noise. Each tick coincides with its own beat of their pulses to form a quiet symphony. His hands play idly with her stomach, outlining the subtle muscle definition where not a single imperfection lives. She breathes in his hair and he breathes in her neck. He recalls somewhere that humans used to do this but at present he can’t understand why; there’s nothing worth smelling aside from the earthy land and musk of lubrication. So he simply rests there, nestled under her chin and cradled in her arms and wordlessly recounting the hours. The perfect, unstained hours that belong to him and 2B and no one else. Feelings and memories no one can take from him. If only his body could keep up with his mind, he would continue it.

“2B, I decided,” he crows, thrown off by the distortion of his own voice. His battery is decreasing dramatically.

“Hm?” She seems unfazed, at least.

“I decided, that any color, and really just anything, would look good on you,” he clarifies as his fingers weakly curl into one of her upturned palms. It’s only a matter of time before he succumbs to a system override.

“Is that so?”

“Anything is good with you, because it’s you.”

He cranes his neck to peer up at her for what may be the first and last time like this. An airy laugh expels through her nose once their gazes meet but his senses are too dulled from the approaching low power to feel it. He puts forth all effort to focus on her eyes and her eyes alone, everything else around him fading to nothingness. Those electric greys are the only things tethering him to their bed, in a camp, on the Earth, floating in the void of space.

“2B…”

The outside light of eternal day dims to an eclipsing black around 2B’s silhouette. He blinks once and suddenly her eyes are gone, downcast somewhere beyond his line of sight, or perhaps his vision has truly gone offline. Fingers squeeze on the bedding, though he can’t tell if the pressure is from his own diminishing strength or hers. His body sinks into the stiff mattress, temporarily stuck in the curve of his partner’s comforting figure. Her breaths close in on his, fading with sound and sensation until the only tangible things he can determine are her lips gently pressing to his.

She murmurs into his mouth, softly, barely above a whisper. Within his internal display, a warning screen counts down the seconds to sleep mode.

 

_Three._

 

“The feeling—”

  
  
  
  
  


_Two._

 

“—is mutual—”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_One._

 

“Nines██

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "With pleasure."

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I expected better from you two.”

The Commander stands tall against 9S’s and 2B’s dwarfed figures, front and center in her private quarters with only a bare desk to separate the three.

“Sincere apologies,” 9S expresses with a steep bow. His squadmate wordlessly remains still.

“Not only were you late in your execution, but you also neglected to keep communications open for nearly twelve hours,” the Commander chastises. The younger android remains angled, eyes glued to the floor. “Had it not been for the locale I would have had no way of knowing your status.”

“Resting was my idea, if it’s any consolation,” 9S explains lifting his trunk.

“It is not,” their superior dismisses with a single wave of her hand. “Details are null when the outcome is the same.”

He yields to her resistance. “Right. But please, what I’m trying to say is that I’m to blame. 2B doesn’t need to be here.”

Harsh metal clacks in succession as the older android marches around her desk, effectively removing the safety net of distance between them.

“YoRHa operates as one,” she states, stature now towering over the two. “One unit, one goal, one mission. If you cannot do that, you are not YoRHa.”

9S straightens his back. “I am YoRHa.”

“Then show it. Both of you.”

“Yes, Commander,” the two subordinates comply.

“That being said, neither of you are to go back in the field before a week’s time.”

9S fights the whine of protest building in his throat. She continues.

“Other units will be switching roles and deployed to fill the gaps, and until then you will carry out base-side duties in their stead. Furthermore, your pods will be returned to you by the day’s end as we recover data and look into any possible security breaches.”

9S nods with 2B, eternally grateful neither of their pods were active last night.

“Understood,” the two say.

“Now, report to your respective operators for assignments.” She gives them a once over before tapping her heels together and placing her right hand over her chest. “Glory to mankind.”

The smaller androids follow suit and respond in unison, “Glory to mankind.”

“Dismissed.”

With a swift turn on his heels 9S exits the office in line with 2B, the tail end of his coat fluttering in the updraft of the automatic door shutting behind them. The black vacuum of space carves out blinding light from the bunker halls’ sterile white walls—and the stares of adjacent colleagues.

Now out of earshot of his commanding officer and without any other immediate course of action, 9S tosses his head and a quick exasperation to the ceiling. Even with the humdrum of electrical whirring and busybodies nearby, the sudden uptick in his pulse presents itself louder than anything else. It must have conveniently hushed itself for the duration of the previous reprimanding.

“I guess we better get a move on,” he casually offers, head falling back down to face his superior.

2B remains stoic, hinged, a clear contrast to his fidgety outline. In complete silence she drifts forward, drawing him to her like a an aural tether. He keeps several steps behind her, not wanting to obstruct her walk nor cause any more of an unsavory scene to the other members. The elevators are only a few paces around the loop but their uneventful stride turns it into a marathon. The quickening in his system doesn’t slow once they arrive, either. Shoulder-to-shoulder.

As soon as the doors separate he treads inside beside her without a word, without so much as another breath, and gives in to impulse.

“This is my fault,” he blurts aloud as they descend, unintentionally entering her space. Her warmth is so much more captivating today. “If I hadn’t been so reckless, we’d never be in this mess.”

“It’s fine,” she hastily replies with a slight lean away, much to his chagrin.

He quizzically examines the lock jawed side of her face, lagging to register her rapid speech. “But it’s not.  You shouldn’t be part of the blame. I’ll figure out a way to fix this.”

“Please,” she fusses, finally turning to him and he notices it: a single bead of silicone dripping down her jaw. He lingers closer to her even as her expression twists and her cheeks pinken.

“Okay, what’s _really_ going on?” he pushes with his words and his body. She shifts in place, visibly distraught yet stubbornly avoidant, and he engages her in a silent tug-of-war of the eyes.

“I forgot to remove 801S’ plug-ins,” she reveals.

The chime for their approaching destination reverberates throughout the elevator. Throughout his chest cavity.

“You mean..?”

All the stuffy, oppressive warm air. The silicone sweat on her skin.

The growing desire in his core.

 

She tips her head once, handing out no further explanation. He takes in a sharp inhale, pulse once again thrumming in his ears.

“The effects haven’t worn off!?” He lifts on his toes as the doors open to the data center.

“Not another word,” she rebukes out of the terminal, her heels stamping toward the center aisle.

“But—”

“Later,” she harshly whispers, refusing to look at him.

He ogles her hastened form branch apart down the right set of stairs and lets go of an accidental withhold of oxygen.

“All I wanted to say was ‘me too,’ jeez,” he murmurs into his shoulder as he slumps down the left set of stairs.

A solid strip of black guides his feet around a curve of pristine desks, each one occupied by operators whose faces alight with projected computer data. 9S’ eyes leisurely bounce about the cabin, his feet long since memorized the trek by now. He could do it without visuals or sound.

“I’d know those clamorous footsteps anywhere,” an operator grouses from the left row of the overhang. “21O, your son is here.” The operator in question groans from across the aisle.

“Her what now?” 9S bawks with a double-take between them, his legs coming to a complete halt.

“Absolutely not,” 21O refutes with a flick of her wrist. “Ignore her. She recently discovered ‘joking’ and has wasted our time ever since.”

“Okay…” 9S trails an unconvinced mumble under his breath and fully pulls up to her desk, his mind already discarding the encounter in place of something more interesting. Like 2B across the room.

The other operator huffs on a shrill note, brushing a set of twin tails with her fingertips. “You don’t have to take my word for it. Just ask 21O about family life and you’ll never make it out of here.”

Truthfully, he’d rather not.

Truthfully, he’d rather ask for 2B.

Over and over and over—

“Moving on,” 21O grumbles, and he’s yanked out of his impulsive thoughts, “I’ve been made aware of your upcoming time away from the field and have adjusted your duties accordingly.”

“Thank you, though it’s a shame I won’t be bringing you any new data for a while,” he lightheartedly replies, struggling not to shuffle in place.

“A non-issue. I still have plenty to comb through on your last retrieval.”

“Ah.” He doesn’t find much else to say. 2B distracts him immediately.

“Your responsibility to me now is completing these daily tasks in a timely manner without trouble. I’ll be sending this information to you regardless, but your new tasks are as follows...”

“Mhm.”

He allows his thoughts to aimlessly travel amidst her assigning, figuring it to be easier to ask for forgiveness during the aftermath in favor of relinquishing to the plug-ins’ lingering effects. His line of sight floats across the way, to 2B and the sublime bow of her hips, tight curvature of her muscles, and just about everything else he can pinpoint under his visor before she leaves the area. He can even hear her call out his name.

 

 _9S_.

 

_9S. 9S, 9S—_

 

“9S.”

 

He nearly jumps out of his artificial skin and snaps his head toward 21O, who appears less than amused. “S-sorry.” His nerves are suddenly too affray and his uniform suddenly too...constricting.

“I would rather not hear apologies,” she sighs. “Your wires are clearly crossed. Go to maintenance before anything else. That fidgeting is nauseating to look at.”

“Oh, uh,” he sputters, now hyperware of his antsy behavior, “will do.”

“Good.”

He nods in affirmation, catching sight of 2B departing 6O’s desk, and takes a quick step away only to be confronted by an accusatory finger.

“For the record,” 21O starts up again, “I was only looking into family matters based on your previous data. The machines’ behavior aligned with what we know of some Old World practices. That’s all.”

“Of course,” he replies quickly, eager to leave as 2B nears the elevator.

“It is completely ridiculous to make any kind of insinuation that you’d be fitting as a son.”

He wrenches his gaze from 2B’s vanishing form and to 21O, agitated yet invigorated with playful derision. “I agree. Just as you would be unfitting as a mother.”

She stares at him, expression unchanged though her posture stiffens. He mostly succeeds in preventing a smile from stretching across his face.

“See yourself to a proper maintenance check and resume today’s duties,” she chides, and with that he swiftly walks up to the terminal platform, failing to reach 2B but nevertheless hopeful in seeing her roam the halls once he’s there.

Hardly any time passes between her exit and his, but knowing 2B he hypothesizes that she sprinted to her next objective. Or at least to her quarters to reset her plug-ins. Either way, as he crosses from elevator platform to hallway junction, he finds his hypothesis to be true. With no 2B in sight, and the hushed giggles of neighboring teammates offering no incentive to inquire about her, he gives up—for now. Until he finds her, or she finds him, he decides to focus on his first task and make room for her as the day goes. If he can’t recreate yesterday’s events, he can at least talk with her about them. Eventually.

For now, traversing the bunker and descending to the lower levels, he has to see a certain scanner about a certain problem. A problem that could easily be solved by retreating to his room and going through inventory, but there’s no fun in that.

“801S,” he announces plainly upon entrance to the spacious work area.

“You’re back!” the other android hollers contentedly, sauntering away from a cluttered table. Just as he left it days ago. “Was your mission a success?”

A flood of disjointed memories from the day prior swarm 9S’ processors, heating up his unit and forcing it to react correspondingly.

“You could say that,” he answers at the center of the room, careful not to stimulate the bulge already forming beneath his garments. 801S quickly meets him, posture more open than their previous encounter.

“Glad to hear it,” the other scanner replies with a grin. “So, how can I help you today?”

For a moment, curiously drawn in by 801’s soft features, 9S forgets why he’s here and thus has no means of answering properly, so he settles on his current most nagging desire. The one that inarguably started all of this for him: because it feels good.

That, and the thought of messing with 801S the same way 801S messed with him is really, _really_ tempting.

“Actually, I was thinking I could help you.”

“Eh?” 801S continues to smile despite the clear head tilt of confusion.

“I know how much you enjoy seeing your customers,” he explains, striding into the other scanner’s space. He doesn’t stop, even with resistance.

“It’s my job, of course,” the other scanner counters, casually walking in reverse to the messy table.

“But you only get to work with one 9S model, right?”

“You’re the only one in this unit, so, yeah,” 801S jests hesitantly. They continue their backwards waltz.

“And you don’t get any other customers as unique as I am, right? Because I have a ‘human’s touch’?”

“Um.”

801S bumps into the table with an audible thud with no more room left between them, but 9S finds a way. He locks 801S in place with his arms and legs on either side, eyes landed squarely on his and their foreheads nearly touching.

“So,” 9S continues, pulse throbbing in time with the heat between his legs, “why don’t you run some tests on me?”

The dark-haired android breathlessly laughs, prematurely cut off by 9S pushing up on him so he has no other choice but to careen back onto the table, a small mess of maintenance tools carelessly falling to the floor.

“I’ll need to, open you up first.”

9S leans his weight onto 801S and lifts the older android’s chin with the tips of his fingers, bringing their mouths closer and closer before parting them and groaning in unison.

“With pleasure—”

It would be so easy, right there on the table, or perhaps the beds, or the wall, or even the floor, but he’s not in a safe house anymore. He’s in a facility that could be visited by anyone, even the Commander who so strictly placed him on probation. It would need to be discrete, short-lived, and brevity is not something he favors. He supposes he could try for 2B because it’s 2B, but this is a special case. 801S needs a taste of his own medicine, as the saying once went. And that requires dedicated time now that he has all the experience he needs.

“—later.”

“Wha...” 801S exhales, missing 9S’ mouth as he pulls away. “You came back to do _that_ , after _all that_?”

“Hm?” 9S returns a playful head tilt. “‘Come back after hours?’ Can do.”

801S grits his teeth behind a wry smile. “You...”

The look of sheer desperation on his squadmate’s face is enough to get him to reconsider holding onto the plug-ins for future use. But as he skips backwards to the elevator, leaving an awestruck 801S in his wake, he can’t help but rush to the android’s rescue with a kiss or two or ten. First on the cheek then swiftly, as the maintenance scanner seamlessly adjusts, on the lips to involve a little bit more than lips alone.

It ends as fiercely as it began with the warning chime of an approaching visitor, and he hops off the 801S with a playful goodbye, waving to both him and the new customer from the ascending platform.

Reaching the higher level, and worked up without any android to help yet with enough time to spare before his first deadline, he excitedly claps his hands together at the revelation of his failsafe option.

“Bath,” he mutters to himself.

He shuffles along the corridor directly to the single user washroom, leaving out his supplies as he already received a thorough sterilization when he returned from his mission. The session this time, he concludes, will be less about following his selfmade ritual mimicking human process and more about unwinding in the bath itself. Relaxation and enjoyment. Doing it to do it.

He’ll just swap out 801S’ chips after.

The shuffle of his boots fades into the background as his system’s vitality pulsates into the foreground. Memories and fantasies play out in disordered succession, all in line of what he plans to explore while in his last real moment of solitude before his work begins. What he’s done with 2B, what he wants to do with 2B, what he knows is likely impossible but still likes to think about doing with 2B.

“What are you doing?”

Or actual 2B showing up on his way to the washroom speaking and looking as flustered as yesterday.

It almost fries his wires on the spot.

“Ah, 2B, yes,” 9S responds with a hard swallow, forgetting to answer as his mind rapidly transitions between lewd imagery. He can only guess he looks as flustered with the way passersby try to avoid eye contact with him.

“What are you doing?” she asks again, fighting to remain monotonous.

“Returning from a brief maintenance check,” he answers. She shifts weight to one leg.

“I see.”

“21O ordered it.”

“Mh.”

“You?”

“Preparing for today’s duties.”

“Of course.”

The conversation goes down in his internal storage banks as one of the shortest, fastest exchanges of dialogue he’s ever encountered. He has wanted to speak with her, ached for it until now even in the young hours of the work day, and yet without the privacy the likes of their rendezvous he’s at a loss for words. At least the right words. He can only drag on a frivolous conversation for so long, especially when so many other distractions beg for his attention.

“I’m also heading into the bath soon,” he adds, unknowingly swaying and pushing off his heels in place. “Figured I could get some time in before I can’t use it for a while.”

2B nods her head a bit, her glance shooting over to the corridor where the bath resides before landing back on 9S. “Bathing is unnecessary.”

He chuckles. “I know.”

They stand in silence for several moments as more androids commute through the hall until 9S can no longer shake the incessant urge flaring up his processors.

“Well, um, for the glory of mankind,” he salutes, transitioning into sloppy form.

“For the glory of mankind,” she reciprocates, and it shouldn’t be as peculiar as it is in that moment.

He holds pose as 2B returns the gesture, not departing before her as is customary with his lower rank. But just as she’s about to pass him and he drops his arms to walk away, she turns a shoulder inward to his chest and places a single hand on his arm, leaning close to his ear with a coo barely above a whisper.

 

“I’ll meet you there.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> GOSH IT'S OVER...idk what to say......You've all been great leaving comments and praise. Really helped me get through some tough times and finally wrap up this hot mess!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. I'll take a break for a bit but hopefully I can write again soon. :) 
> 
>  Edit: RIP idk how to make this damn pic work just take it
> 
>  


End file.
